A Madness Most Discreet
by Sophie French
Summary: Being an Auror is not easy: the long hours, the paperwork... Add to that a loud and smug partner, whose favourite past time is to make fun of you by reading the most ridiculous excerpts from your fan mail, and you have an idea of what Harry has to go through every day. Except Harry doesn't really mind. In fact, he almost hates himself for finding the whole thing rather endearing.
1. Albert

**A/N: This is the sequel to my other fic, The Gentlewizard Club, so you might want to read it before this one, if only to know how Draco and Harry got together. :)**

 **This fic is finished, but I still have to go through a round of editing. That's why I'll post a new chapter every week.**

 **As usual, massive thanks to my beta team. :)**

 **A Madness Most Discreet**

 _"Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;  
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;  
Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears.  
_ _What is it else? A madness most discreet,  
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.  
―_William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

 **~CHAPTER 1~**

 **Albert**

"I did not dawdle!" Harry said indignantly, pushing his feet to the ground hard and sending his chair rolling back forcefully until it came crashing against the windowsill behind him. The fake window in his office displayed a dark, stormy sky, and Harry fleetingly wondered if the people from Magical Maintenance were on strike again. The weather wasn't enough to shake off his good mood though. Nothing really could these days. For the first time in years he felt a constant, underlying happiness. And most of it was due to the giant git currently resting his arse on top of Harry's desk, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

"Well, you certainly took your time opening that door," Draco said, the hint of a smile on his lips.

"They were showering us with all kinds of hexes and curses _you_ were supposed to deflect, you smug bastard! What did you want me to do?"

Draco's mouth curled up in the most annoying smirk. "Open that door?"

Harry rolled his chair all the way back to his desk, his eyes narrowed in defiance. The dramatic effect was somewhat diminished by the ridiculous little steps he had to take to reach said desk again. Draco snorted and Harry hit his dangling leg in retaliation, scoffing when he heard Draco gasp.

"Twat," Draco muttered, rubbing his shin with a wince, before letting his foot rest against Harry's thigh as usual.

Harry smiled. "Takes one to know one, Malfoy."

"Kids," Blaise tutted from Draco's own swivel chair. Harry had almost forgotten he was in here with them, feet elegantly crossed on Draco's desk, sporting that haughty air Harry was familiar with.

Blaise had become a regular fixture in Draco and Harry's office lately. Ostensibly, it was because their office, situated at the end of the building, was famously larger than any other regular Auror office. Harry had not asked for it, far from it, and he would have been satisfied with a regular, smaller office, but apparently Draco had thought differently. Harry had no real proof of that, but he suspected Malfoy had used both his charms and Harry's reputation to get them the biggest, brightest office. It wasn't enormous, but it comfortably fitted their two desks on two adjacent walls - Harry's facing the front door while Draco's was opposite an ugly bright orange sofa Draco had collected Merlin knew where.

But the real reason for Blaise's regular visits had more to do with his Auror partner who, for some reason, had a hold on Blaise like no one else had ever had. "Well, at least you didn't have to spend your day looking after a bloody Kneazle. I swear Mrs Crawley is going to be the death of me."

"Have you given in to carnal pleasures with her, then?" Draco asked with an evil grin, turning to Blaise.

Harry tried hard not to let the pale expanse of Draco's neck distract him.

Blaise's face was a good mix of disgust and repulsion. "No thank you. Even I have my limits." Blaise's smile turned smug. "Her daughter, on the other hand…"

Blaise never got to finish his door flew open, revealing a very angry-looking witch. Susan Bones wasn't tall, but she had a presence that could chill a room filled with the toughest Aurors in a second.

"Susan?" Blaise ventured. "What a pleasure to see you, you look very…" he trailed off when she shifted on her feet, her arms folded across her chest, glaring daggers at him. She didn't have to say a word for him to stand up and follow her sheepishly out of the office. "I'll see you later," he called before closing the door behind him.

Harry turned his attention back to Draco, immediately overwhelmed with a hot rush of pure want that was reflected in Draco's eyes. Draco reached for his hand and gently laced their fingers together, a smile slowly forming on his lips.

Four days after the memorable weekend at the Gentlewizard estate in Yorkshire, Harry still had a hard time believing they were now much more than just Auror partners.

Auror partners.

The words clicked in his fuzzy brain, reaching through the surge of want that had gripped him and he forced himself to step back, breaking eye contact and removing his hand from Draco's.

"We need to…" he trailed off, trying to remember what the hell they were supposed to do now.

He was rescued by a familiar thump on the window. A couple of years ago, the Ministry had decided to make the windows part of an internal network, allowing owls to fly directly to offices to deliver heavier packages. It had done a fair bit to assuage complaints about the less pleasant aspects of having birds flying above people's heads all day.

One look at Draco's beaming face told Harry all he needed to know: it was _that_ time of day again. Harry hastily flicked his wand over his overcrowded desk to Banish the bottles of ink, just in time for the massive package of fan letters to spread open and spill all over the place.

"I'm off," Harry said, standing up swiftly and heading for the door. "I'll go and see if we've got assignments."

"That is an utterly questionable tactic to avoid facing the reality of-"

"Yeah, well, you can always tell me all about it when I'm back."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I certainly will."

"Good," Harry said, grateful that the Ministry had abandoned its use of cubicles in favour of closed offices as he was sure the broad, smug smiles they exchanged would have given them away in a second, had anyone been around to witness it.

* * *

"Ah, just in time," Draco said as soon as Harry stepped back in a few minutes later. A dozen flying memos followed him into the room and landed in a heap on the floor; Harry's desktop was already crowded with love letters and Draco's delectable arse.

"Listen to this: 'You are, undoubtedly, the sexiest man alive,' Draco declaimed, adopting a dramatic pose. "That's because she's obviously never met me." He grinned at Harry over his reading glasses.

"Obviously." Harry couldn't help smiling back as he made his way to his desk. Draco's grin morphed into something softer and sweeter and Harry wanted nothing but to ravish him on the spot. He took out his wand instead and performed the spell Draco had taught him to organise the memos in order of importance.

Draco turned his attention back to the letter. _"You're just too good to be true."_

 _"Can't take my eyes off of you,"_ Harry replied absentmindedly.

Draco frowned and looked at Harry over his glasses. _"You'd be like Heaven to touch."_

 _"Oh I wanna hold you so much."_

Draco opened his eyes wide, his mouth forming an almost perfect 'o,' before slitting his eyes, a small smirk forming on his lips. "You cheater."

"What?"

"I knew it!" Draco was beaming now. "I _knew_ you were the one writing all this fan mail. The Truth, finally revealed! I mean, who could believe for one moment that that many people would find _you_ interesting?"

"Hey, I did defeat the Greatest Dark Wizard of the Past Fifty Years," Harry argued as he pointed at the _Prophet's_ cover bearing the pompous headline that Draco had annotated with funny remarks and framed behind his desk.

"Potter, I'm impressed," Draco said in a patronising tone. "True, you've learned from the best, I'll give you that, but I did not expect that level of mastery from a Gryffindor."

"What? But that's…" Harry trailed off.

Draco ignored him, and jumped from the desk. He leaned closer to Harry, looming over his chair, making himself comfortable in Harry's personal space.

"Now tell me," he started in a conspiring tone. "How did you do it?"

"I-"

"No, no, no, don't tell me." Draco went back to sit on Harry's desk, both his index fingers on his lips, a variant of his famous 'thinking pose.' "I know," he said slowly, lifting a finger up in the air. "You employ a whole bunch of sad house elves that work day and night in the cellar of your building to write those pathetic letters."

"Draco-"

"No, no, no, don't tell me."

Harry removed Draco's remaining finger from his lips and forced Draco to look at him. "It's a song. A Muggle song."

"What?"

"What you've read from the letter. It's the lyrics of a famous Muggle song. My Aunt Petunia used to sing it all the time."

Draco scrutinised Harry for a moment. "So you don't have a cellar full of house elves?" he whispered.

Harry crossed his arms. "You know I don't."

"Well, you'll still have to prove it," Draco said, his foot resting against Harry's thigh. "And I'm still convinced you write at least some of those letters in your free time. But that's not the point right now." He smiled his odd little smile again, and Harry settled between his open legs and pressed a kiss to Draco's lips, unable to stop himself. Draco's smile widened and he kissed Harry back before grabbing another letter from the stack.

"You're going to love this one."

"My anticipation knows no bounds," Harry deadpanned.

"Just listen: _'You are so hot, that my insides are blazing with a fire only you and your powerful Saviour hose can extinguish.'"_

"You're making this up."

"Me?" Draco placed a hand on his chest, looking offended. "Never, Potter."

"That is not real. Show it to me." Harry grabbed the letter and skimmed through it. "Fuck," he said. "She actually did write that..." He scanned the letter again, feeling his cheeks heat a little at the words.

"Told you," Draco said with a triumphant smile. "And you haven't seen her gift yet," he added with a smirk.

Harry frowned. "What gift?" He scanned his cluttered desktop and his eyes stopped on something so ridiculous he barely had words for it. "What. Is. That. Thing?" he asked, pointing at a glowing pink heart hovering a few inches over his desk.

"I believe this is a testimony of her deep love for, well, you and your…" Draco's eyes trailed down. _"Saviour hose."_

Harry reached for the pink heart and a wave of unknown magic coursed through his fingers. He read the inscription in flashing golden letters: _I heart my Saviour!_

Draco inched closer, and Harry let go of the little pink heart. Harry's brain stopped functioning when Draco delicately brushed their lips together. He parted his mouth expectantly, closing his eyes, ready to surrender.

"You have something floating by your ear," Draco murmured against his lips. He pulled away abruptly, leaving Harry simultaneously cold and frustrated.

Harry opened his eyes to find Draco smirking at him. "What?"

"There." Draco pointed to the little heart still hanging next to his ear.

"Oh." Harry went to catch it, but his fingers closed around thin air. He tried again with no more success than the first time. He tried a third time, and a fourth. But no matter how many times he tried, the little heart managed to slip through his fingers before resuming its position by his ear. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" he cried out in frustration. "Can't you help?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Draco said with a sadistic smile. "This is highly amusing. Besides, I'm not sure helping is entirely possible."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know much about these things, but from the look of it your magic got mixed with whatever Charm there was on the heart."

Harry felt the blood leave his face. "And?"

"There's a good chance it has to be magically removed."

"Bloody hell," Harry said, rubbing his hands on his face. "Fine. Let's do it then."

* * *

"That's it, I'm giving up," Harry said ten minutes later, throwing his wand on his desk in annoyance. They had tried absolutely everything, from Severing spells to Vanishing ones, to no avail. The little heart was still happily following Harry wherever he went. "Robards is going to kill me."

"Oh yes, he definitely is," Draco replied seriously. "He will rip you apart."

"Thank you, that's helpful."

Draco beamed. "You're very welcome. I like helping people, it's my altruistic side."

"But honestly? Why would anyone send something like this?"

"For what it's worth," Draco said, "it's a rather good look on you."

"Oh, ha, ha, very funny. Seriously though, I'm never going to hear the end of it."

"Hey, come over here," Draco said in a strangely soothing voice, as he curled two fingers around the belt loop of Harry's jeans, tugging him in closer.

Harry saw no reason to protest, not when the look on Draco's face had shifted from utterly amused to almost concerned. Draco gently removed a strand of hair from Harry's eyes and threaded his fingers through his hair, sending shivers down Harry's spine.

"I've always had a thing for your hair," Draco murmured.

Harry smiled, revelling in the soft caress on his skull. Draco raked his fingers through Harry's hair again, making him forget all about ridiculous little hearts for a moment.

"Mmm." He leaned into Draco's hand and closed his eyes. Draco's fingers gently curled around his neck before settling on his shoulders. Draco kneaded his fingers into Harry's collarbone and Harry let out another moan, gradually relaxing.

"I can't believe I'm here doing this to you," Draco said and Harry opened his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of Draco's darkening eyes.

"I can't believe it either," he said, voice rough. He wrapped a hand around Draco's hip and reached for Draco's face with the other. "I never imagined that one day I would get to do this," he whispered as his fingers traced Draco's pale eyebrows one after the other. "Or this." He ran his fingers down Draco's straight nose and Draco let out a soft sigh that went straight to Harry's groin.

"And I certainly never imagined I would get to do this," Harry said again, his voice barely audible, as he brushed Draco's full lips with the pad of his fingers. Draco's mouth opened at the touch, his breath hot and damp against Harry's skin. It sent a rush of desire and need and warmth so strong Harry's knees nearly gave in. "I've wanted you for so long."

Draco took hold of his hand and pressed a soft kiss to his fingertips. "Of course you have," he said and then Harry was being thoroughly kissed. He pressed harder against Draco's body and moaned into his mouth.

Draco's lips were pliant against Harry's and their tongues slid together in a wonderfully familiar way. It was hot and deep and intense and fuck, Draco's heady scent combined with his sweet taste made Harry dizzy. He let himself drown in the heat of the moment, temporarily forgetting all about raving fans and little glowing hearts to focus on his own, rapidly pulsing heartbeat.

* * *

They arrived just in time for the daily meeting with Robards. Harry's glowing pink heart was still floating on the left side of his head. It had garnered him a couple of barely hidden snickers and whispers, which he blatantly ignored, on their way to the conference room.

Harry entered the room after Draco, his head held high, daring anyone to react in any way. Like in the corridors a few minutes before, there was a low murmur and some restrained laughter, but nobody dared say anything in the presence of the Head Auror. Harry and Draco took their usual seats by the door.

"I see Auror Potter has once again found a way to draw attention to himself," Robards finally said, breaking the silence in the stuffy conference room. He leaned forward on his elbows, looking straight in Harry's eyes. Zacharias Smith snorted somewhere on his left and Harry cast him the darkest glance he could muster. He still couldn't believe that the bastard who had been a pain in the arse at Hogwarts had managed to become an Auror. Robards interrupted his train of thought. "Would you care to explain why on earth you have this… utterly ridiculous fixture by your head?"

"It's a pink heart, Head Auror Robards," Harry said through clenched teeth.

"That is not the question I asked you, Auror Potter."

Harry took a deep breath, keeping his eyes fixed on Robards, refusing to give in. "A– Someone sent it to me. I didn't know what it was and when I touched it, it apparently combined its own magic with mine and now it won't go away."

"Really," Robards said contemptuously. "I would have thought that an Auror of your calibre, Saviour of the Wizarding World and Defeater of the Greatest Dark Wizard of the Past Fifty Years would know better than to touch unknown objects sent by random so-called admirers."

Harry stiffened in his seat as Draco pressed his foot against his under the table. "I believe every single letter or packet is thoroughly checked by Detection before it's sent to us, sir."

Robards licked his lips and a strange little smile appeared on his mouth. "Are you now implying that the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects did not do its job properly? Would you like me to call their Head in?"

Of fucking course. Count on Robards to throw Arthur Weasley into the mix. Harry couldn't believe he had walked right into this one. He silently counted to five. "No, sir."

"That's what I thought," Robards said, a detestable, satisfied grin on his lips. "I therefore demand you remove this ridiculous appendage immediately, Auror Potter."

"I can't, sir."

Robards lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. "You can't?" he repeated, detaching each syllable in a way that always disturbingly reminded Harry of Snape.

"I– We've tried everything, and it won't go away."

Robards narrowed his eyes. "Well, I suggest you try harder."

 _Fuck you,_ Harry wanted to say. Draco's foot pressed harder against his. The simple gesture grounded him, and prevented him from doing something stupid on impulse.

"We will, Head Auror Robards," Draco suddenly said next to him.

"Well, well, Auror Malfoy to the rescue. How incredibly touching. I will take you at your word, then. I expect this disgraceful addition to be gone by tomorrow morning, or I will be forced to take measures. Now, enough with trivialities; let's get to work, shall we?"

Robards didn't address either Draco or Harry during the rest of the meeting. It was as boring as usual, and Harry couldn't help thinking for the umpteenth time that they were wasting precious time they could spend out there in the field. Instead, they had to endure countless minutes listening to Zacharias Smith assigning case after case to each team of Aurors with a self-importance that reminded him of Percy Weasley.

Harry sighed and let his mind drift away. No need for him to hope for the most exciting cases anyway, especially after the glowing heart debacle.

* * *

They stepped out of the room an hour later, and didn't say a word until they'd reached the safety of their office.

Harry closed the door, the little heart buzzing in earnest by his left ear as he leaned a little bit too harshly against it and let out a deep sigh.

"Bastard," he said angrily. "Fucking, arrogant, useless prick," he added.

"Why, you should be delighted, _darling,_ " Draco replied with a grin, and Harry rolled his eyes at the pet name. Draco had first used it when they were still pretending to be lovers, but to Harry's dismay, he had not dropped the habit since they actually became lovers. "We get to help Mrs Devon find and capture those precious venomous Indijin Ants of hers that buggered off Merlin knows where. We only have to retrieve all–" He opened the orange file and let his finger slide along the parchment detailing their mission until he found what he was looking for. "–one thousand, nine hundred and eighty-two of them before we can call it a day. Oh, and without magic, that goes without saying."

"Fuck," Harry said again, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Not for a while yet, I'm afraid," Draco said with a bright smile, cupping Harry's face in his hands. "First, we have to…" he trailed off, pressing a soft kiss on Harry's lips that suddenly grew much more intense. "Yes, that's it," he murmured against Harry's lips. _"Albert."_

Harry pulled out of Draco's grip so fast he banged the back of his head on the door. "What?" he asked, bewildered. "What did you just call me?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Not you, idiot. _Him._ " Draco pointed to the space by Harry's left ear. "Albert. The heart. His name is Albert. I've been searching for a name for this ridiculous little heart all morning but nothing fitted. I thought about Gerard, but it sounded far too plebeian for such a distinguished little heart. I was rather fond of Antoine, I must admit, but it didn't have the same ring as Albert."

"You're-" Harry started, at a loss for words.

"Don't say it," Draco said, pressing a finger to his lips.

"Okay," Harry replied, and Draco smiled before kissing him again.

They left shortly thereafter, Draco, him, and Albert, apparently. And no, it wasn't Harry's dream mission, but at least he was with Draco, and that was enough to brighten his day.

* * *

Capturing the magical ants took them hours, and it was way past sunset when they Apparated back to Harry's flat. They crashed in a heap on the sofa, Draco half-sprawled on Harry, their legs tangled together. Harry was unable to move after spending most of the day on all fours looking for terrified ants under all sorts of ancient pieces of furniture. His wrists still bore the mark of the gloves he'd had to wear all day.

Draco had been his usual self, showering Mrs Devon with the sort of attention she probably hadn't experienced since 1962. 'Of course, Mrs Devon, everything you need, Mrs Devon. Would you like another cushion, Mrs Devon?' 'I agree, Mrs Devon, it really is not nice of your nephew to have abandoned you like that, but thankfully I am here for you, Mrs Devon.' Draco spent more of his time chatting to Mrs Devon than actually looking for the bloody ants. He asked her questions after questions about the blasted insects, and how she had got them, what kind of species they were, what kind of food they ate and so on, until Harry was sure he could write a five hundred pages essay on the life and habits of the Indijin Ants.

"Oh, and did you see when I asked her if she had given them names, Potter?" Draco was recalling, as enthusiastic as ever, as if it wasn't nearly ten o'clock on a Thursday night and they weren't exhausted.

"It was hard not to notice," Harry replied wearily, "Since she insisted on sharing the names of all fourteen thousand of them."

Draco sat up swiftly and frowned, one finger held up in the air. "One thousand, nine hundred and eighty-two," he corrected. "Well, at least before you went and lost a whole bunch of them."

"What? I did not!"

"Yes you did. There were only one thousand, nine hundred and twenty-seven left at the end of the day."

"I have looked absolutely everywhere and believe me, there was not a single ant left in that flat." Harry sighed. "And what a difference does it make, honestly? It still felt like millions of them," Harry added, running his fingertips absentmindedly over Draco's forearm, which rested lazily on his stomach. "At least I didn't spend my day flirting with Mrs Devon."

Draco's eyebrows shot up in his hair and a sly smile formed on his lips. "Really?" he said. "Someone did that?"

Harry narrowed his eyes.

Draco pulled back, an indignant look on his face. "Me, Potter? I am shocked you could even suggest I was flirting when all I did was interact with the victim, taking care of her? _That's_ why we're important, Potter. And, I, as the professional I am, made sure you had all the latitude to work. Honestly, you are not very grateful. You sound like Robards, sometimes."

Harry narrowed his eyes and pointed an accusing finger at Draco. "Don't."

"Why, you should take that as a compliment. Robards is such a charming individual," Draco said, a dreamy look on his face. Said face took on a conspiratorial look when he added in a murmur: "I think he likes me."

Harry burst out laughing. "Oh, God, not again!" At the pained look on Draco's face, Harry grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together. "You've already said that about Kingsley."

"Well, I stand by that one too. But do not fear, _darling,"_ Draco said, batting his eyelids. "I have eyes only for you." He smiled. "And Albert," he amended, glancing up at the little heart still dancing by Harry's head.

"Oh, shit, I'd completely forgotten about that thing!"

"You forgot about Albert? How could you?"

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered and then something occurred to him. "I'm going to Floo call Hermione. She'll know what to do."

"Now?"

"Well, yes. If I have to get rid of this before tomorrow morning, I'd better get going."

Harry disentangled himself reluctantly from Draco's embrace and knelt by the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the flames. A few seconds later, Hermione's head appeared in the hearth.

"Harry!" she said. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. What about you?"

"Great! I've just got home from work. Now I can get down to my own research."

"Is she talking about Weasley?" Draco said in a low voice, a dubious look on his face. He was leaning on the mantel, arms folded across his chest. He wasn't close enough that Hermione could see him, but there was still a chance she could hear him though.

"No," Harry whispered. "Hermione's doing research on her free time."

"Who are you talking to? Is there someone here with you?"

Harry hesitated. He still hadn't told his friends about his relationship with Draco, because they had only been together for a few days and he still wasn't completely ready for that yet.

"Yes," he said, opting for the truth. He tossed a glance at Draco. "Draco's here. We– We finished up late and we… He…"

"I see," Hermione said. "What do you want, Harry? You're not calling me at half past ten to ask me about my day, are you?"

"Er, no, not really," he admitted. "I have, er, a little problem."

And he told her all about the letter, the heart, and Robards' ultimatum.

"Um, it sounds like a Heartbinding spell, let me check." And she disappeared from the hearth.

"What do you think?" Harry asked Draco, still kneeling on the floor.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You look pretty good on your knees like that."

Harry's face flamed and he grinned. "Not that, you idiot! What do you think of Hermione's theory? The Heartbinding spell?"

"Oh, that?" he said with a dismissive gesture. "I like my line of thinking much better than yours, Potter."

Harry laughed. "There'll be plenty of time for that afterwards."

"I certainly hope so." Draco grinned back and Harry's stomach fluttered crazily. Was he supposed to be such a sap when he… felt whatever he felt for Draco? "But yes, I think that might be it. I'd dismissed it at first because–"

"I'm back," Hermione called from the hearth.

"Right." Harry faced the flames again. "Did you find anything, then?"

"Well, yes, in fact, I asked Ron and he appears to be rather familiar with the concept."

"What? Why?"

"Well, apparently, that thing comes from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

"Sorry, mate!" Harry heard Ron say behind Hermione's back. "It's something we designed for Valentine's Day. Was pretty popular, I must say."

"Great," Harry muttered. "How do I get rid of it?"

"Well, it's pretty basic actually," Hermione said "And not that hard to remove." She paused. Harry could see her biting her lips and a feeling of unease rushed through him.

"But?" he prompted, afraid of what she might have to tell him.

"Yes, Ron, I'm coming to it," she snapped, before turning back to face him again.

"What? What is it? What do I have to do?"

"Well, you can wait for it to wear off, but it takes at least a couple of days."

"So that's not an option. It has to be gone by tomorrow morning," Harry grumbled.

"Or you can have the caster cast a counter-spell."

"Again, not an option." He was feeling more desperate by the moment.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell him, don't be such a–"

"What? What is it, Hermione? Is there a quicker way to remove it?"

"Oh yeah, there is," Ron guffawed.

"Oh, would you please stop that at once, Ronald!" Hermione said. "Harry, the unofficial way to undo the spell–and I am not going to ask why–is apparently to…" Her voice trailed off. He could now distinctly hear Ron through the flames, laughing his arse off.

"To what?" Harry replied impatiently, feeling fear gradually mounting in him.

"You have to, er, that is, be with someone. In a… in an intimate way. Someone other than the caster, I mean."

"What?"

"Yes, you see, the Heartbinding spell is meant to temporarily bond you with the object of your affection, although it's not as powerful as an actual bond. It's basically something someone would use as a prank, so it would go away if it sensed your… interests lay elsewhere."

Harry frowned. "You mean all I have to do is, well, be with someone, anyone and the whole thing will go away?" Harry instinctively looked up at Draco whose face was a mixture of deeply amused and slightly puzzled.

"That's it, yes."

Harry exhaled hard, feeling somewhat relieved. That shouldn't be a problem. "Okay, then."

"Okay? I mean, are you sure you've understood the–"

"Yes, yes, I have, Hermione, and I assure you I'm going to be okay."

"Really?" Hermione persisted. "I mean, it's already late, and if you have to–"

"Don't worry, I'll find a way."

"Harry, you are not going to go back to that pathetic little club, are you? I mean, I know Marco leaving was unexpected, and you probably feel lonely and sad and depressed and useless but–"

"Hermione, please," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "You're not helping."

"It's perfectly understandable, Harry, and there's no shame feeling a little out of it for a while."

"I'm not–"

"But you know what I think about one night stands and how disrespectful it is of the people who–"

"I know, Hermione," Harry cut in again. "And I promise you I'll find a way to solve this little, er, problem…"

"He's not a problem," Draco said, an indignant look on his face. "And his name's Albert."

"Who's Albert?" Hermione asked. "Your new boyfriend?"

The look of pure horror on Draco's face was priceless. 'Payback,' Harry mouthed, before turning to Hermione again. "I assure you, you don't want to know. But I promise you I will not hurt anybody's feelings."

"Okay, then. Have fun, I guess. And let me know how it went."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You want me to tell you about–"

"NO!" Hermione said, a horrified look on her face. "God, no, of course not, only about the– the heart, that's it. God, I don't want to know about anything else," she said, and Harry saw her blush through the flames.

"All right, have a good night. And thank you for your help."

"Don't mention it." And she disappeared.

"Well," Harry said, standing up and reaching for Draco's cheek, running his fingers against it just because he could. "I guess now we know what to do with the next hour."

Draco snorted. "As if we didn't know before. I didn't think we needed a reason for that, Potter."

"Stop calling me Potter when it's just the two of us."

"Force of habit."

Harry smiled and cupped Draco's chin in his hand, running his thumb over Draco's jaw before placing a chaste kiss on his lips. He pulled back a little and opened his eyes. Draco's gaze had lost its playful glint and taken on a more intense, serious expression.

Harry leaned forward and kissed Draco again. He revelled in Draco's touch, in the soft lips opening to him, and in Draco's tentative, slightly shaky hand on his hip. Harry wrapped his arms more tightly around Draco, running one hand up the hard lines of Draco's back while the other moved from his cheek to tangle in his soft, silky hair. Draco gradually relaxed against him and Harry pressed their bodies closer together, moaning wantonly in Draco's mouth when Draco's arousal pressed against him.

Draco pulled back and looked down at Harry. "I need the bathroom," he said in a hoarse voice.

"Okay." And Harry never really knew what went on in Draco's head when they were together like this, just the two of them, but he didn't push him. He tried to remind himself that Draco was new to all this… whatever _this_ was. "I'll go after you."

"Good," Draco smiled, pressing his thumb to Harry's bottom lip before kissing him softly again and disappearing in the bathroom.

Harry leaned against the nearest wall and closed his eyes, letting out an involuntary sigh when he heard the bathroom door lock.

* * *

"Don't be too long," Draco said as he left the bathroom in a cloud of steam some ten minutes later, hair still dripping onto his tee-shirt. Harry had to restrain himself from licking the tiny drops as they made their way down Draco's neck.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said, kissing Draco before entering the steamy bathroom.

Everything was dark when he stepped back into his living room a few minutes later, except for the soft blue glow of the Conjured flame coming from the bedroom. Harry let out a soft exhale; somewhere deep inside of him, he was always a little afraid Draco would leave.

He brushed the thought away, focusing on the present, and walked into his bedroom. He paused in the doorway and took a moment to enjoy the view: Draco was sitting in bed, now bare-chested, hair still slightly damp. He was perusing the latest issue of _Quidditch Weekly_ , his reading glasses perched on his nose. A soft smile formed on Harry's lips at the sight of this man, _this_ man, in his bed _,_ and something warm, something fuzzy, rose inside him.

Draco looked up at him over his glasses, his eyes roaming Harry's body appraisingly and Harry suddenly felt self-conscious under the scrutinising gaze. He had never thought of himself as even remotely attractive, and he wasn't as handsome as Draco was, far from it, but the way Draco looked at him… Lust and want flickered on Draco's face, before Draco tore his gaze away from Harry.

"Do you miss it?" Draco asked, looking at the magazine.

Harry made his way to the bed and crawled under the covers, relishing the warmth of Draco's body. Draco's leg immediately came to rest against his, the soft hairs of his leg brushing Harry's in a comforting way. "What, Quidditch?"

Draco nodded.

"Sometimes, yes," Harry replied honestly. He did miss Quidditch. The sheer joy of being on a broom, the wind howling in his ears as he scanned the sky for the Snitch. He missed the chase, the extraordinary rush of adrenaline surging through his veins, the fierceness of the competition, particularly with Draco, _especially_ against Draco. "I mean, I do play, sometimes, with the Weasleys but…" He shrugged. "I don't know, it's not the same." _Without you,_ his mind provided.

Draco winced. "I can imagine." He put the magazine away and removed his glasses, folding them neatly by the lamp, making the tiny light flicker a little. "But for now," Draco added with a drawl, "I suggest we cut the talk and take care of Albert, and your, well, _Saviour hose_ , I suppose." The smile on his face was playful, almost mischievous.

"God," Harry said, shaking his head. "You're just-"

"I know," Draco said, and then he ran his fingers through Harry's hair and brought him closer, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to Harry's lips before pulling back, looking at Harry as if he was checking for something. "I am."

And then he was kissing Harry again. The tiredness, the aches in Harry's body, the long hours, everything was forgotten at once as they melted into each other.


	2. A Beautiful Place to Die

**~CHAPTER 2~**

 **A beautiful place to die**

* * *

When Harry woke up the next morning, Albert, the tiny glowing heart, was gone.

They spent all morning on the report. Draco, being his usual unhelpful self, opened Harry's fan mail and read aloud the juiciest bits, laughing like a madman and basically being annoying. Harry hated himself for finding the whole thing rather endearing.

It was way past one when he finally pushed open the door to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, leaving Draco to have lunch with Blaise. As always, his senses were assailed by bright colours, sharp smells and loud noises. The shop was reasonably busy for a weekday, and Harry had no trouble finding his way past the shelves containing the different varieties of Skiving Snackboxes, passing the trick wands area and the de-ageing creams to reach the middle of the shop.

A man was spelling clean what Harry supposed had been a red stand in the explosive area, which was now almost entirely black. The man turned when he heard Harry approach and burst out into a grin. He had a huge trail of soot across his forehead and his hands were almost entirely covered in fine black dust.

"Harry!"

"Hi, Frank." Harry smiled. "Busy day?"

"Ah, well, another day at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, I suppose," Frank said, discarding his wand on the stand and rubbing his hands together to get rid of the dirt, without much success.

Harry took another look at what was left of the stand. "What's happened?"

"Bombtastic Bombs. _Very_ volatile." Frank pushed his dirty glasses up his nose with the coal black tip of an index finger. "They apparently don't like change much," he murmured. "I thought they would look good next to the Bang Bang Boggart Bangers but it appears I was wrong." He sighed, shaking his head.

"Well, good luck with the cleaning up, then," Harry said, walking to the back of the shop and leaving Frank to his cleaning duties. George and Ron had hired him a few months ago, when their assistant, Verity, had gone on maternity leave. Frank wasn't as energetic as the young, outgoing assistant had been, but the middle-aged man was warm-hearted and had a rather developed taste for pranks that had immediately appealed to the shop owners.

Harry found Ron in the back room, which was as poorly lit and monochromatic as the rest of the shop was bright and colourful. The room didn't have any windows, and its walls were covered in shelves holding boxes of documents full of what Harry assumed were Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' plans and formulae. The wall behind Ron's desk was the only exception. It bore pictures taken in the shop over the years — lots of George and Ron, of course, and Fred in many of them too. There were a few with Verity and the boys promoting new products, and a more recent one with Frank, the shop's latest employee.

Ron was sitting at his desk, bent over an impressive pile of parchment, his elbows resting on the overcrowded desk top and his fingertips massaging his temples. Harry smiled; it was about the only time Ron could be caught looking serious.

It had been a shock to Harry when Ron had decided to quit the Aurors shortly after they'd finished their three-year training programme. Of course, Harry knew it wasn't the end of their friendship–after all they'd been through, it was almost indestructible–but it definitely had been the end of something. Or the beginning of something else, he thought with a smile, since Ron's defection had prompted Kingsley to partner him with Draco.

"You ready, mate?" Harry asked.

Ron lifted his head. "Yeah, I guess." He sighed. "I love my job, I really do," he said, standing up and grabbing his cloak. "But I fucking hate paperwork."

"Don't we all," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I've spent the whole morning describing in great details the whereabouts of hundreds of venomous ants."

Ron winced. _"Nox!"_ he said, waving his wand, and the light vanished at once. "That's an aspect of the Auror work I certainly don't miss."

They made their way to the front door, passing Frank who had restored the stand to its former appearance. "Tell George I'll be back around two, Frank." Ron said.

"Will do."

* * *

Harry couldn't tell exactly when weekly lunches at Grimmauld Place had become a thing, but somehow, over the years, it had happened.

They were welcomed by Walburga Black's usual shrieks. Ron would always yell something rude at her to wake her up, every single time. Harry silenced her with a practised, almost bored, flick of his wand as they made their way to the first floor.

The house had not changed much since Harry inherited it after Sirius's death. The ancient furniture, the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpets were all still there, as well as the house-elf heads on the wall above the stairs.

The main difference was that it was immaculate. Kreacher insisted on keeping the place pristine, even though nobody lived there anymore.

The house was far from perfect, but it gave Harry and Ron the privacy they needed, a place where they could speak freely and eat in peace.

As always, they settled in the drawing room where Kreacher had left them a plateful of their favourite sandwiches as well as a couple of cool Butterbeers. The house-elf had taken it upon himself to prepare their lunch when he'd realised Harry and Ron met here every Friday. Harry hadn't asked him to do it, of course–Hermione wouldn't have allowed it–but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

Harry used his wand to ignite the old gas lamps while Ron sprawled on one of the sofas. Harry took his spot on the one opposite Ron's and unwrapped his sandwich.

"So," Ron said, biting energetically into his own sandwich. "What did you end up doing for your Hovering Heart of Long Lasting Love?

"That's Albert's real name?"

Ron frowned. "Albert?"

"Yeah, that's–" Harry smiled. "That's the name Draco gave it. You know how he is."

Ron nodded slowly, brows still furrowed as he stared at Harry, chewing absentmindedly on his sandwich.

Harry shrugged mostly to himself, and brought his own sandwich to his mouth. He was about to bite into it when Ron spoke again.

"It's him, isn't it? Malfoy?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "What?" he managed to croak, the sudden blush rising up his neck a dead giveaway.

"He's the one who… lent you a hand last night, so to speak?"

"Nice choice of words." Harry smiled. "I–" No need to lie; he had nothing to hide, after all. He took a deep breath. "Yes."

"How?"

"Well…"

"No, I mean." Ron shook his head again, as if trying to get rid of an annoying fly. "Was it just the one time or–"

"No. We were already together."

Ron gaped. "How did that happen? When?"

"Over the weekend."

"Fuck."

"Yeah, that too." Harry smiled again.

"Oh my God, don't." Ron said, pressing his hands over his face. "Ugh, you and Malfoy– God, no. Not an image I want to conjure." He removed his hands from his face. "I mean, I know he's no longer the prick he was when we were at school, but still. He's obnoxious, loud as hell, and a smug wanker."

"I know." Harry grinned. "I happen to like obnoxious, loud as hell, smug wankers."

"You always have."

Harry rolled his eyes. "If you say you've always suspected because I was obsessing over him in sixth year, I'll have to hex you, you know."

Ron snorted. "Well, in my defence, you _were_ obsessing about him."

"Not for the same reasons."

"If you say so," Ron said, wolfing the rest of his sandwich down.

Harry had wondered, of course, many times since what he felt for Draco had moved from a basic work relationship to something romantic. If in some twisted way it had always been about Draco, one way or another. But that always seemed a little too simplistic as an explanation.

"That's what you want, then?" Ron asked.

"Yes."

Ron nodded. "Good. It's… good for you. I guess."

"Thanks."

"Is that legal, though?"

"Oh, come on, Ron, I know he's not your favourite person in the world but–"

"No, I mean, you're Auror partners." Ron smirked. "Not that anything involving shagging and Malfoy should be any legal in my book but."

Harry laughed. "Well, it's not forbidden, per se, but it's… not recommended."

Ron shook his head again. "I didn't even know he was–"

"Neither did I."

"I never suspected."

"You never suspected about me either," Harry said with another smile, somewhat relieved that his best friend had accepted his relationship with Draco with as little outrage as he had.

Ron smiled. "Fair enough."

"So we're… good?" After all these years, he somehow still needed to hear Ron say it.

Ron rolled his eyes. "You know we would be even if you decided to date a Hippogriff."

Harry laughed. "Buckbeak's taken, unfortunately. But thanks, it's always good to know."

"Ugh, I wonder which is worse, honestly. Between dating Malfoy and a Hippogriff."

"Shut up."

"Although, come to think of it, they're not that different." Ron's mouth curled up into an evil grin.

Harry pointed his finger at him. "Don't."

"It's true," Ron went on. "They're very much alike, after all. They're both haughty, proud and easily offended." He snorted, looking very happy with himself. "They need lots of compliments and are liable to lash out if you insult them."

"I guess you've got a point." Harry grinned. "Now show me what you have for me."

"Right." Ron took out a small bag from the inside pocket of his cloak and plunged his whole arm inside. He rummaged through it for a little while, until he'd found what he was looking for.

"There you go," he said, a triumphant smile on his face, as he handed Harry what looked like a…

"A Muggle watch?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"This has nothing to do with a Muggle watch," Ron corrected. "Let me introduce you to the _Wickedly Wonderful Weasley Watch._ "

Harry turned it in his fingers, taking a closer look at it. It looked like a Muggle watch, with its blue plastic wristband, but the dial had been replaced with what looked like a mirror. "What does it do?"

"Let me show you."

Ron took a similar watch out of his bag and stood up.

"Just put it on. I'll be right back," Ron said, before leaving the room. Harry heard him climb the stairs to the upper floors and then the sound of a door opening and closing.

That was another reason why Harry and Ron had chosen Grimmauld Place as their sanctuary for their weekly meetings: it was the perfect place to test Ron's prototypes.

Soon after Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had opened years ago, the Ministry had shown interest in some of their products. Harry remembered how surprised and delighted Fred and George had been, after the Ministry commissioned five hundred Shield Hats for its support staff.

Like Ron had told Harry numerous times, there were some things that had appealed to him about Auror work–he wouldn't have spent three years training for it if he hadn't liked at least something about the job. So when he quit, George put him in charge of the invention and creation of various devices aimed specifically at the Ministry. There were two different branches: a general one for the support staff (the 'boring' part as Ron had told Harry once) and a specialised one dedicated to the Aurors (the 'fun' part).

So for three years now, Ron had equipped the Auror Office with several magical devices that had revolutionised the work on the field. Some of them–like the Instant Blinding Powder or the Jinx Off were now so popular that no team of Aurors would leave on a mission without them.

As soon as Harry had finished fastening the watch to his wrist, it disappeared from view. Harry touched his wrist where the watch was supposed to be, and sure enough, there it was. He could feel it, but not see it.

"Harry," Ron's slightly distorted voice emanated from his wrist and the watch materialised again. Ron's face then appeared on the dial, a thin red line running along the edge of it.

Instinctively, Harry brought it closer to his mouth. "Ron?"

"It's 'or- 'ing, 'liant!"

"Yeah," Harry said to the watch.

"It's 'ill a pro- 'ype."

"Yes." Harry gently tapped the dial with the tip of his finger a couple of times, to see if it improved the transmission.

"Ouch!" yelled Ron through the watch. "-n't do '-at!"

"Sorry." Harry brought the watch even closer to his mouth. "I can't make out every word you're saying."

Before Ron could reply, his face vanished from the dial and the watch was invisible again.

"I know," Ron said behind him. "Like I said, it's a prototype in its very early stages. There's still work to do on them."

"They're brilliant, Ron," Harry said, standing up. He took out his wand and Vanished the crumbs on the carpet and sofas. "How did you do that?"

"I was inspired by the two-way mirror Sirius had given you."

"Oh," Harry said, with a sudden ache in his heart.

"Yes. But those are very rare, and old, and difficult to find, so I've analysed the way they work, which enchantments were on them. It was very, very tricky, because they use so many different charms and the way they interact…" He shrugged, and Harry could see the pride in his eyes.

"What about the invisibility?"

"Oh, that?" Ron said nonchalantly. "A simple Disillusionment Charm. Not a big deal, but I thought it could be useful."

"That's amazing," Harry said, genuinely impressed as he studied the watch once more.

"Yeah, well, it's far from ready to be used, as you can see, mainly because like I said, the Charms are pretty tricky and volatile, but I'm working on it." He sounded casual, but Harry knew better and he couldn't stop the smile forming on his lips.

"What does Hermione think of it?"

"I haven't shown her yet," Ron said, grabbing his cloak and putting it on. "I'll wait until it's fully operational."

"Good," Harry said as they made their way to the front-door. He knew how important it still was, after all these years, for Ron to have Hermione's full approval. "I can't wait. I think they're going to be very useful once you've improved them."

"Thanks, mate." Ron's cheeks coloured slightly at the compliment as Harry opened the door and they stepped outside.

* * *

"Where in Salazar's name have you been?" Draco jumped off of Harry's desk and joined Harry at the door in an instant, his scarlet robes flowing around him.

"Thanks, I've missed you too," Harry deadpanned.

"Potter, I cannot tolerate you mucking about while we have a job to do."

"I was having lunch!"

"Lunch?" Draco said contemptuously. "As if that was absolutely necessary," he added, crossing his arms on his chest.

"Well, I know it might sound hard to believe, but my body does have needs, several times a day."

"Oh yeah?" Draco said suggestively, brushing a finger to Harry's cheek. "Funny, mine does too," he said again, his breath warm on Harry's skin.

Harry kissed him on the lips. "Not that kind of need, you prat."

"Oh." Draco shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He put his hands on Harry's shoulders, his face suddenly dead serious. "Potter," he started, and Harry braced himself. "We have a case."

"We have a what?"

"Oh my God, what was your score on the aptitude test again?"

Harry clicked his tongue in annoyance. "A very high one. And believe me, if you, of all people, were able to pass the personality one…"

Draco opened his mouth to retort but seemed to think better of it. "True. But anyway, that's not the point right now. Like I said, we have a case. You know the–"

"I know what a case is, Malfoy," Harry said in a bored tone. "So what is it this time? Let me guess." He walked around his desk and settled in his swivel chair, resting his feet on the crowded surface, his hands laced on his stomach. "We have to find an incredibly small object an old lady misplaced among a thousand useless trinkets."

"No." Draco folded his arms across his chest.

"Okay," Harry said again, his index finger on his chin, mimicking Draco's thinking pose. "We have to go and arrest a drunken wizard swimming around in a fountain and threatening to hex Muggles with his wand."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Really, Potter?"

"Please don't tell me it's something even less exciting." Harry sighed.

Draco unfolded his arms and came closer, splaying his hands on Harry's desk. "When I said we had a case, I meant we had a _case_."

"Oh, that's much clearer now, thanks."

Draco leaned forward again. "A case with a _dead_ person."

Harry abruptly removed his feet from his desk and sat up. "You are joking, right?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm joking, Potter?"

"Er… In my defence, it's always hard to tell. But seriously, do you mean we have a real case? A grown-up case?"

Draco's lips curled up in a smile. "A grown-up case."

Harry stood up. "But why didn't you start with that, you wanker?"

"Because it's always fun to listen to all your absurd speculations."

"They're not absurd. Don't you remember that just yesterday we spent hours crawling after venomous ants?"

"I don't recall having done anything as plebeian as crawling, Potter. Malfoys don't crawl."

"Oh yes, that's true. You were outrageously flirting with Mrs Devon."

"I was not–"

"Never mind. We have a case. Let's go. You can fill me in on the way there."

* * *

Draco couldn't help bouncing all the way to the lifts, telling whoever was willing to listen that they had a grown-up case.

It was true that it had been a while since they'd had a real case. Things were pretty quiet for the first time since the end of the war. Of course, Harry was happy about it; less crime was always a good thing. But a small part of him couldn't help wishing for a little bit more action than he got.

"Can you believe it, Potter? A real dead body?" Draco said excitedly, once inside the lift, beaming, his arms flailing in excitement. "With blood everywhere and all! And with a little bit of luck, it might even be a proper murder!"

Harry elbowed Draco, smiling apologetically at Mafalda Hopkirk. She had just joined them in the lift and her eyes and mouth had widened in horror at Draco's words.

"Oh." Draco said, in a much more subdued voice. "Oh. I mean. It's a terrible tragedy, obviously. The death of a man." He nodded, his face now the picture of compassion. "Poor lad." Draco sighed dramatically after an uncomfortable silence. "He probably had a family, too."

Harry frowned, but Draco was too far gone now.

"Annoying offspring that would run to him every night as he came home from his exhausting job with a tyrannical boss. Peter and Martha would jump in his arms, of course," he added, a tremor in his voice, and Harry buried his face in his hands, wishing he were far, far away. "And Tiny Tim, walking slower, because of–"

Harry removed his hands from his face to elbow Draco again, much harder this time, and Draco mouthed an indignant 'Ouch!' as Harry pointed silently at Mafalda who was now frantically pressing the buttons of the lift in a desperate attempt to make it go faster.

"The Atrium," the cool female voice in the lift said, and the golden grilles slid open. Mafalda stormed out.

"We should have a drink together sometimes, Mafalda," Draco called after the tiny witch, but she didn't turn back and disappeared in the crowd.

"Did you really have to overdo it that much?" Harry asked as they stepped into the Atrium. "I mean, Dickens, really?"

Draco shrugged. "He was quite talented for a Ravenclaw."

Harry gaped. "He was a wizard?"

"Why, of course, Potter. You did not think for one second that such a gifted writer could have been a mere Muggle, did you? Where did you think his inspiration for the third Spirit, the hooded Phantom came from?"

Harry frowned. "Dementors?"

"Precisely!"

"Really? But I…" Harry shook his head. "Never mind. Tell me more about the case."

Draco filled him in on the case during their walk across the Atrium. They passed the golden fountain at a good pace and quickly reached the fireplaces.

"So, an unidentified wizard has been found dead at the bottom of a cliff in Cornwall by a witch who was walking her Crup on the beach?"

Draco nodded.

"Where in Cornwall?" asked Harry as they waited in line in front of the fireplaces reserved for the Aurors.

"Cam Pedn farm. And then we'll have to walk from there."

"Okay."

Draco stepped in first, disappearing in a whirl of green flames, and Harry followed suit.

He stumbled upon arrival and would have probably fallen headfirst on the beautiful slate floor if Draco hadn't caught his arm.

"Thanks," Harry said, taking in the rustic beam ceiling and the sturdy stone walls.

Draco sighed, shaking his head. "What would you do without me?"

"I would be completely lost, miserable, and pathetic," Harry said, playing along.

"Of course you would. Come."

They said a quick hello to the old lady who owned the farm and stepped outside into the sun. Harry was shocked almost into breathlessness at the sheer beauty of the place. To either side of them, long stretches of green, dotted with jagged rocks and windswept heather, stretched as far as the eye could see. Straight ahead, beyond the top of the cliff, Harry saw the dark blue immensity of the ocean. There was no sound but for the wind howling in their ears and the occasional cry of a seagull from afar.

"Wow," Harry muttered as they started on the narrow path leading to the beach.

"Indeed," Draco said, in an unusually subdued tone. "What a beautiful place to die."

"Yeah." The path narrowed again and the steepness increased as they came closer to the top of the cliff. Draco's fingers brushed Harry's in what Harry thought at first was an accidental gesture. He was proved wrong when Draco's little finger curled around his own and Harry smiled, still looking forward.

It was a little bit surreal to be here with Draco, just the two of them, in the open, out of their usual environment. It would be easy to forget they were here on a mission.

On a mission, with a real case, and a real body.

"Wait a minute." Harry stopped dead in the middle of the path. "How come we got a case like this one? I mean, I knew when I joined the Aurors that we wouldn't always have fascinating missions, but we haven't had a real case for the past… six months, at the very least. How come we got that one?"

Draco looked around as if checking nobody was listening in on them, which was absurd since there was not a soul in a ten-mile radius. "Not now, Potter."

Harry pulled back, an uncomfortable sensation settling in his stomach. "What is it? Tell me."

Draco growled. "I said, not now."

"No way." Harry shook his head and folded his arms. "I want to know before we get down there. You know I won't budge, so spit it out."

Draco groaned and rolled his eyes dramatically. "Fine," he snapped. "Bloody stubborn Gryffindor prat," he muttered under his breath.

"I heard that."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I meant for you to hear it."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"I happened to be the only one around when the case arrived. First come, first served."

"The only one? But where was everyone?"

"Ah, well, I can't really tell you, Potter, since it would betray the Pledge of Secrecy I signed when I joined the Aurors."

"What. Did. You. Do?" Harry asked, his foot tapping impatiently on the ground.

"I have absolutely nothing to do with anything." Draco held his hands in front of him in defence which made Harry even more suspicious.

"Of course not. Why don't you just tell me what you _think_ hypothetically happened, then?"

"Hypothetically?"

Harry nodded.

Draco took a deep breath, looking up at the sky in an exasperated manner.

"All right. But please bear in mind that these are not facts, Potter, just hypotheticals."

"I'm all ears."

"Well, my guess is that someone hypothetically overheard Shacklebolt tell Robards about the body—"

"Overheard?"

Draco raised a finger. "Someone may have _hypothetically_ used a controversial albeit DMLE-approved _hypothetical_ device in order to achieve better results at the, well, overhearing business."

"Extendable ears?"

"That might be a very good _hypothetical_ guess."

Harry made a dismissive gesture. "I don't want to know. Go on."

"Right. So someone may have heard about the case and, a few moments later, a couple of Decoy Detonators may have accidentally been set off at the other end of the building creating a well, hypothetical distraction for the Aurors present."

Harry had a hard time containing his smile. "Oh, that's very bad luck."

"Indeed." Draco smiled back. "So, you see, since I was the only one around, and Shacklebolt was still in the vicinity of Robards' office, the Head Auror had no choice but to give me the case."

"Good thing you weren't fooled by those detonators, then." Harry smiled again.

"Ah, but that, Potter, is because I am the brightest Auror in the Department."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Not in the whole of England?"

Draco lowered his voice. "Of course in the whole of England, but I can hardly say that, it would make me sound obnoxious."

Harry chuckled. "Of course."

"It is very serious, though. You are lucky to be partnered with me, you know?"

"Oh, yes, I am."

"After all, I am a very serious candidate for the prestigious and coveted Auror of the Year Award, based on my sheer talent and unrivalled skill."

"If such an award existed, yes, surely, you'd be the most likely recipient."

Draco beamed. "Of course. And I don't even want to think of what we could achieve, you and I, if I finally gave in to Shacklebolt's hopeless attraction to me and actually slept with him."

Harry smirked. "You sure you'd rather not sleep with Robards instead? That might help us more."

Draco looked horrified. "Why, Potter, you'd be ready to sell your boyfriend to the enemy?"

Harry's stomach made an odd flip at the word.

"Although, come to think of it…" Draco said, looking away, his finger pressed on his chin.

"No way." Harry growled, his mouth contorting in disgust at the thought of Draco with— No. _Mine,_ he added in his head, a strange new possessiveness blossoming inside him.

Draco smiled again, genuinely this time. "But think! Think of the cases we would _always_ get if I did?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Don't even think about it."

"Jealous, Potter?" Draco said, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and bringing him closer. "I like that." He smiled and pressed a brief kiss to Harry's lips.

"Well, don't you dare."

Draco spent the rest of the walk rambling about what he could do to please Kingsley and Robards, beaming like a loon and looking very proud of himself. Soon they reached the top of the cliff. The view from there was spectacular, if one didn't pay attention to the inanimate body lying in a pool of blood some seven hundred feet below.

* * *

"So, he fell from here?"

"I congratulate you, Potter, on your remarkable deductive skills." Draco said, scanning the area, his wand out. "Who trained you? They must have been an incredible mentor."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

Draco beamed, and went back to work.

They did a quick once over of the top of the cliff, before leaving it to the small team from the local Magical Law Enforcement Patrol.

It took them forever to reach the beach at the bottom of the cliff, but the view on the rocky coastline was just as breathtaking. The beach was a beautiful sandy one, with a multitude of rocks scattered all over the place, most of them probably completely covered by the water during high tide.

They walked the remaining hundred feet to the body, guarded by a second team from the local Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. Off to the side, shivering under what looked like a magical self-heating blanket, a young witch with short blond hair sat on a rock, her elegant Crup at her feet.

They showed their Auror badges to the patrol and approached the body. The victim was a man in his mid-forties with long, brown curly hair and a goatee, his eyes still wide open in shock. He reminded Harry of a picture of the Three Musketeers he had seen in a book at school when he was a child.

"Well, isn't that interesting?" Draco asked next to him.

Harry frowned. "What?"

Draco flicked his wand over his hands to cover them with an invisible protective barrier that would prevent him from soiling the body. He crouched on the ground and rolled the dead man's left sleeve up. Underneath it was a faded but still very recognisable Dark Mark.

"How–" Harry said, carefully. "You knew him?"

Draco nodded. "Andrew Jugson. I saw him a few times at the manor. He's an old pal of Dad's. Poor father will be devastated; his mouth might even twitch in emotion when he learns about it." Draco said. "Let's go and speak to her," he added, indicating the witness with his chin.

They spent the whole afternoon in Cornwall, collecting evidence, interrogating first the witness, then the inhabitants of the closest neighbouring houses. Since most of the people living there were Muggles, they had to Vanish their scarlet Auror robes before and put on the change of Muggle clothes they always carried with them on missions.

Then they went to Jugson's flat a few miles inland and searched it thoroughly, with the help of the local Magical forces and a couple of Unspeakables who hovered over the scene shrouded in the mystery of their mission.

They had a quick dinner at a Muggle pub in Boscastle and headed back to the Ministry right after.

* * *

"Okay, let's take a look at what we have," Draco said. They sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a dozen boxes containing the evidence they'd collected at the scene. Draco had organised it in piles he'd spread over the floor of their small office, giving the room an air of organised chaos.

"Right. Let's review the facts," Harry said, while his quill scribbled furiously on a piece of parchment on his desk. "Andrew Jugson, 43, was found dead today on a beach at the bottom of a cliff in Cornwall, a couple of miles away from where he lived."

Draco unrolled a map of the area, and pointed at it. "Victim jumped from the top of this cliff, as stated by witness one, Wendy Matthews, 23, of Crackington Haven."

"Wendy Matthews was walking her Crup on the beach below the cliff, about fifty feet from the point of impact," Harry went on, holding the witness's statement in his hand. "She stated that she realised what was going just a couple of seconds before the victim jumped and therefore didn't have time to draw her wand to help him."

"The first examination of the body seems to indicate that the victim died because of the fall," said Draco pointing at a photo taken on the scene. "He hit a rock headfirst and crushed his skull, as confirmed by the pool of blood created by the wound."

"The logical conclusion based on those first factors leads to Theory Number One: the victim killed himself," said Harry.

"However," Draco said with a smile that sent a thrill through Harry's spine; it was in moments like these that he realised how much he loved his job, and how much he loved doing it with Draco, how well they understood each other. "A certain number of elements don't quite fit with the suicide theory."

"True," Harry agreed. "Element number one: the victim's wand was found next to him on the beach. A quick _Prior Incantato_ showed that the last spell cast by the victim was a simple hex."

"Besides, five patches of burnt grass were found on the top of the cliff as shown on these pictures," Draco said, displaying another set of photos taken by the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. "According to the tests run on the scene, these burns match the time frame."

Harry nodded. "Information confirmed by Witness Two's testimony."

"Witness Two," Draco said, rummaging through the pile of parchments on his right. "Mark Stutcliffe, 64, a wizard living on a farm a few hundred feet away, stated that the victim was on his own. I quote: 'He was running and screaming and casting hexes all over the place, like a madman. He looked terrified, although there was nobody but him up there.' We must add that absolutely no trace of another being, magical or not, was found on the top of the cliff, thus ruling out the possibility of a Disillusionment Charm."

"Meaning…" Harry started.

"That we now have a second theory: the victim was cursed," Draco finished. "Even though the preliminary tests have shown nothing of the sort."

"Yet," Harry pointed out. "Those tests don't rule out a delayed curse, although we'll probably know more in a couple of days when St Mungo's is done with the body. Which leads us to–"

"Element Number Two," Draco said. "The victim's neighbour's testimony."

Harry handed Draco another roll of parchment and their fingers brushed. They exchanged a knowing smile. "Witness three," Harry said. "Rose Harris, an 82 year old witch living in the flat below the victim's, said that Jugson had looked 'distraught' and seemed 'out of sorts,' lately, which fits with the suicide theory. The man is depressed and kills himself."

"However," Draco stepped in. "And I quote Mrs Harris: 'He looked pale and unhealthy, had a hard time breathing properly, and was shaking constantly over the past few days.' She also said she had questioned him about his health but he had not answered her."

"Which leads to element number three," Harry said. "Mrs Harris said the victim was a loner, who barely spoke to anyone. She said that in the two years he had lived in the building, she'd never seen him with anyone."

"That changed, according to Mrs Harris's testimony," Draco said, going through the parchment. "A couple of months ago when he started having a visitor, a rather distinguished lady who then became a frequent fixture at his flat. Mrs Harris said the lady appeared to be a witch, and she wore a wedding ring."

Harry snapped his fingers at the quill and it stopped writing at once. "Well, that's food for thought."

"Certainly. We should prob–"

There was a knock on the door and they looked at each other, frowning.

"Harry?" A familiar voice called from the other side of the door. They both stood up, using their wands to put all the evidence back in the boxes, thereby clearing the floor. "I know you're in here, I saw you going in earlier."

Harry went to open the door. "Marco," he said coolly. "What are you doing here?"

"Yes, what are you doing here, Marco?" Draco sneered, arms folded across his chest in defiance.

"I came to see you," Marco said, looking straight at Harry and smiling widely. He was gorgeous, really handsome, with his tanned skin and curly dark hair. Harry had forgotten.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Well, you've seen him now, so you can go."

Marco turned to him and smiled again. "Good to see you too, Draco."

It was Draco who had introduced Marco to Harry at a Ministry event a few months ago, at a time when Draco was trying desperately to find a boyfriend for him. The candidates he chose were mostly men Harry had nothing in common with, but on one occasion Harry had genuinely hit it up with the guy and things had gone well. At least until Marco broke up with him one morning by leaving a note on Harry's kitchen table.

"I need to talk to you," Marco said to Harry, ignoring Draco, who had grabbed a box of evidence and was emptying it onto his desk. "In private."

"Don't mind me," Draco cut in. "Just pretend I'm not here."

"As much as I'd like to, Draco, that's very hard to achieve," Marco said with another smile.

"Well, too bad, since I'm not going anywhere. It might be an alien concept to you, but we are actually working here." Draco sat in his chair, put his reading glasses on, and started going through the evidence.

Marco frowned at the unusually hostile tone in Draco's voice. "Harry?"

Harry went to sit at his own desk and rummaged through the notes his quill had just taken. "What do you want?"

Marco looked between them and sighed, sitting on a chair facing Harry, his eyes the perfect mixture of vulnerability and charm. "You. I want you back," he said in a low voice.

A loud noise shattered the silence in the room and both Harry and Marco jumped. They turned to look at Draco who appeared to have reduced a glass of water to pieces.

"Oops," Draco said, Vanishing the remains of the glass with a flick of his wand without lifting his eyes from his paper.

Marco frowned, shook his head, and turned his attention back to Harry again. "I–" He reached for Harry's hand on the desk and took it in his. Harry swiftly took it away from him. Marco continued anyway. "I miss you."

Blam. This time it was the metallic bin by Harry's desk that ended up smoking from the force of Draco's hex.

Marco stood abruptly. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, turning to Draco.

Draco slowly stood, bracing his fists on his desk, and narrowed his eyes above his glasses, a dangerous glint passing through them.

"You should go," Harry said hastily, standing up and rounding his desk before things escalated. "I don't–" He shook his head. "I don't want anything to do with you." He forced himself not to look at Draco then, but could feel Draco's eyes on him.

"You sure? I mean, we were good together."

Harry saw the look on Draco's face and almost pushed Marco through the door. "I'm sure. Totally sure, believe me. We're done. Forever."

Marco took a long look at him. "You've changed."

"Yes. I've changed," Harry agreed. "Goodbye, now."

Marco turned around to look at Harry again, running a finger on his chest. "If you ever change your mind..."

"He won't," Draco said coldly, slamming the door in Marco's face before locking it with his wand.

"What the hell was that?" Harry asked, running his hand through his hair.

Draco looked at Harry with predatory eyes and it sent a shiver down Harry's spine. Draco looked like he was about to attack at any moment.

"Draco…" he said, a soft warning in his throat. "What are you–" But before he could finish his sentence, Draco lunged at him and shoved him hard against the nearest wall, kissing him fiercely.

"He had," Draco said between kisses, cupping Harry's face with his hands. "No right." He licked Harry's lips before kissing him again. "To touch you," he said again, kissing Harry once more.

Draco then attacked Harry's neck, kissing him fervently, his hands roaming everywhere, from Harry's sides to his back and down to his arse, which he cupped in earnest, pressing their bodies closer together. "You're mine," he growled against Harry's jaw. "Mine."

"Yeah," Harry said, closing his eyes, running his hands through Draco's hair. He grabbed the lapels of Draco's shirt, pulling him in for another urgent kiss. "I'm yours," he murmured against Draco's lips, "Merlin, yes, I'm all yours."

"Mine," Draco growled again as he ripped Harry's shirt apart, kissing and biting his way down his chest. Harry had never felt wanted like that, ever. He had never felt like that at all.

He buried his hands in Draco's silky hair once more, tugging hard at it, his head falling back against the wall behind as Draco moved lower still. "Yes!" he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed.

Draco tore at Harry's jeans' buttons and shoved them down around his knees in one swift motion.

They both moaned when Draco grabbed Harry's erection through the fabric of his boxers and placed his mouth on it experimentally. Harry was very aware of the fact that Draco had never done anything like that before, he was very aware of the fact that maybe it wasn't something that should happen this way, urgent and angry against the wall of their office, but he couldn't find it in himself to care enough about it right then.

He yelped when Draco pushed his boxers down to his knees and Draco's lips finally closed around him. Without thinking, Harry rocked his hips forward as Draco devoured him. There was no other word for what he was doing to Harry; Draco devoured him, taking as much as he could in his mouth, barely pausing to breathe. He licked and sucked and kissed, undoing his own trousers and taking himself in hand as Harry panted and cried and nearly died from the sheer wildness of it all.

Soon Harry shot his release into Draco's mouth, vaguely aware that Draco was coming too. Draco peppered him with little kisses on his way up Harry's stomach and chest, murmuring a litany of sweet words over and over against Harry's skin until he'd reached his mouth and kissed him again, slowly and languorously now that the edge of arousal was gone.

"Well," Harry said, smiling against Draco's lips. "Marco should come over more often."

"Shut up."


	3. Interference

**~CHAPTER 3~**

 **Interference**

* * *

Harry awoke the next day to a warm body against his back and light kisses pressed on his neck.

He smiled, sliding his hand down to meet Draco's on his stomach. He laced their fingers together and murmured a lazy, "Good morning," relishing the fact that it was Saturday and they didn't have to go to the Ministry today.

"Good morning to you, too," Draco replied against the back of his neck, his breath warm on Harry's skin.

Harry, still a bit sleepy, let Draco's soft caresses awaken him slowly, inch by inch. He let out a contented sigh as Draco whispered sweet nonsense against the sensitive skin at the back of his neck. He arched his back as Draco's hand moved closer to his rapidly hardening cock, and hissed when Draco ignored it altogether. Instead, Draco's hand stroked the inside of Harry's thigh, teasing, but never touching Harry where he most craved to be touched.

"You're so soft there, I could eat you," Draco murmured in Harry's ear.

"Not stopping you," Harry replied in a breath.

He felt Draco's smile against his neck. "Not right now. I have something else in mind."

Draco twisted his body away to grab his wand from the bedside table and Harry mourned the loss of the heat against his back for a moment. It didn't last.

"I'm going to open you up slowly," Draco whispered in Harry's ear, his warm breath sending shivers down Harry's body again. "Get you ready for me."

"Yes," Harry replied hastily, a hint of desperation in his voice.

He reached for his own cock, now fully erect and aching to be touched, but Draco grabbed his wrist before he could.

"Don't." Draco said. "Don't touch yourself just yet."

Harry groaned and gripped the sheets instead, holding tight. He couldn't repress a moan when he felt Draco's fingertip against his entrance and relaxed completely when Draco gently worked him open.

"You like that, don't you," Draco murmured, nipping at Harry's earlobe. "You like my fingers inside you."

"Yes. I love– _Oh_." Harry exhaled as Draco reached deeper inside of him. "Your fingers, and your– God!" Draco fucked him slowly, in and out in a regular rhythm, his fingers slick, and wet, perfect, until— "There!" Harry exhaled. "Just there."

"Here?" Draco teased, curling his fingers and applying soft pressure against Harry's prostate.

"Yes. Fuck, yes!" Harry thrust back against Draco's fingers, his skin prickling with need.

"Good?" Draco asked, and Harry couldn't help smiling at the obvious hesitation in Draco's voice.

"You think– oh, God. You think I'm— _oh,_ faking it?" Harry was breathing raggedly now.

Again, he felt Draco's smile against his neck. "Of course not, I just–" Harry felt him shake his head. "Never mind." Draco resumed his slow finger-fucking, hitting Harry's prostate every time now, until Harry couldn't stand it anymore.

"Now, Draco," Harry pleaded, desperate for more.

"What do you want?" Draco whispered. He licked a stripe along Harry's neck.

Harry was delirious with want now. "You," he panted. "I want– God, I want you inside me now."

Harry felt Draco withdraw his fingers and shift forward at once, slamming their bodies together. He felt a nudge at his entrance, and a thrill coursed through his body at how much he craved this.

"I'm going to fuck you," Draco croaked, his voice filled with arousal, his breath hitching as he pressed in. Harry's eyes stang slightly from the burn. "I'm going to fuck you, long and slow, until you beg me to let you come."

Harry pushed against Draco as he inched his way slowly inside. "Yes, come on."

Draco's moan once he was fully sheathed inside Harry sent another wave of desperate want in Harry's body. He tightened his hold on the sheets as Draco's hand came to rest on his hip.

Harry grabbed Draco's hand and wrapped it around his stomach. He revelled in the proximity of their bodies, and the burning of their skin as Draco started moving.

"If you knew," Draco said softly in Harry's ear, "How many times I've dreamt of doing this."

"God," was the only answer Harry could manage, his body alive with the sensations of being filled in this way.

"How many nights I've spent hating myself for want– _oh._ Wanting this so much it– _Fuck._ " Draco panted now, each one of his long and agonisingly slow stroke sending another rush of pure want in Harry's body. "Knowing I could never—"

Draco paused and Harry felt a shaky hand slide under his thigh. He lifted his leg to give Draco better access.

"Draco," he said in one long exhale.

"I never–" Draco went on. "I never— _oh._ Never imagined I could, God _,_ have this one day, I was supposed to–" Draco's hips moved faster now, as if he couldn't control them any longer, and Harry pressed harder against him, seeking even more contact. "This is—" Draco panted. "This is all I've ever wanted and now–"

"Draco, please," Harry cut in, grabbing Draco's hand from his hip and bringing it to his aching cock.

"Yes," Draco hissed.

Harry let out a whimper and arched his back again, trying to get more of Draco's fingers as they finally wrapped around his cock.

"Yes. Harry." The reverence in the way Draco said his name made Harry dizzy and he moved his hips faster, losing himself in the sensations, until it wasn't enough anymore. "I want to—" he said, placing his hand on Draco's arse, hoping he would understand his silent inquest.

"You want—" Draco said as he pushed Harry over on his stomach.

Harry moaned loudly when Draco covered his whole body with his, his elbows on either side of Harry's head.

Harry's pleasure increased ten-fold as Draco now fucked him into the mattress with a force that chased any thought left in Harry's brain. He spread his legs wider, his leaking cock rubbing against the sheets in earnest. Harry arched his back, revelling in the heady feeling of being taken and possessed in this way, pinned to the bed by the man he had wanted for so long.

Draco reached for Harry's hands and entwined their fingers together as he increased the pace again, thrusts frantic and out of control. Harry's orgasm took him by surprise, swelling deep inside him and rolling through the base of his spine until it exploded to every corner of his body. He let go completely and arched his back, letting out a strangled cry as he came all over the sheets a moment before Draco came inside of him in a loud groan.

Draco turned them on their side and Harry closed his eyes again, letting out a soft, contented sigh.

* * *

Harry came to himself as Draco's cock slipped out of him. He couldn't repress a smile, thinking of how dramatically things had changed over the course of a few days. A week ago, he and Draco were getting ready to take a Portkey to the Gentlewizard estate in Yorkshire, for a weekend that would end up changing everything between them.

"I can hear you thinking from here," Draco drawled, and Harry's smile widened.

He rolled over onto his other side, facing Draco now, and waved his fingers lazily over their bodies. _"Tergeo."_

"Show off," Draco muttered as the stickiness vanished from their skin.

Harry grinned. "You're just jealous."

"Me, Potter? Jealous of something as menial as a wandless spell? I could perform them in my sleep when you were still playing with your hands in that cupboard of yours."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, you tell yourself that, Malfoy."

"I–" Draco started but Harry shut him up with a kiss. Harry revelled in Draco's taste and the softness of his lips in this post-orgasm bliss.

"Anyway," Harry said, breaking the kiss. "I was thinking about what you said a week ago. Remember?"

"I said a lot of things."

"You always do." Harry chuckled. "You said we wouldn't last a week."

"Well," Draco said, pulling the now dry sheets over them. "It hasn't been a week, technically."

"True."

Harry couldn't help smiling as Draco snuggled closer to him, resting his head on Harry's chest. He saw goose pimples raise over his stomach as Draco ran the tips of his fingers smoothly over it.

It was ridiculous, really, how Harry's body filled with elation at having this, this simple thing he'd so longed to have. He wasn't unhappy before, of course, but now…

He wrapped one arm around Draco's back, the other absentmindedly stroking Draco's forearm. Draco tensed at once, and Harry immediately saw why: it was Draco's _left_ forearm, the one bearing the infamous Dark Mark. They had never really talked about it, except last week when Draco had shoved it in Harry's face to explain why nobody wanted to date him.

"Do you…" Harry began gently. "Do you mind me… touching it?"

"Absolutely not, Potter. I understand the furious, feral need to touch every single precious inch of this delicious skin."

Harry snorted. "Right." He grabbed Draco's forearm and brought it closer to his face. He let his fingertips run softly over the Mark. "I never thought it'd feel like that," he said, mostly to himself.

Harry felt Draco still. "Like what?"

"Like… like, just plain… skin."

Draco scoffed. "Well, I know your observational skills are limited, Potter, but it is, indeed, skin. A hundred percent delicate, flawless pure-blood skin, fourteen centuries worth of–"

"Inbreeding?" Harry cut in with a smile.

Draco lifted his head abruptly to shoot an indignant stare at Harry. "Perfect genetics. Of course, not everybody has the chance to be gifted with such natural grace and beauty." Draco preened.

"Of course," Harry said, tracing the outline of the Mark with his fingers, from the repulsive skull to the snake coiling from its jaws. He couldn't stop looking at it, in some sort of morbid fascination.

"You have a thing for my tattoo," Draco said. "I always knew you were a pervert deep inside. Or maybe not that deep."

"Shut up," Harry said, finally letting go of Draco's arm. "I don't have a thing for it. I–" He paused, looking for the right words.

"You wish it weren't there." Draco's voice was tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

"No, I just–" Harry said carefully. "I mean… don't you?"

Draco shrugged, strangely serious for once. "It's a part of me, no matter what I think about it now."

"Oh."

"Yes, _oh._ " Draco paused. "I'm not foolish enough to pretend this didn't happen," he said again, showing his Mark. "I've heard of several Death Eaters who tried to get rid of it once Voldemort was out of the picture, but I–"

"Really? I mean, is that even possible?"

"Well, there are rumours," Draco said, letting his hand fall on Harry's stomach. "Every once in a while, someone comes up with some 'miracle' solution to get rid of it."

Harry frowned. "I've never heard of such a thing before."

"Of course you wouldn't." Draco snorted. "We don't exactly hang out in the same crowds, you and I."

Harry's stomach fell. "You mean you still–"

"No. Not anymore. But my parents do."

"Oh."

Draco nodded. "All the Death Eaters know each other, and word spreads easily."

"Oh."

"You are aware there are other letters in the alphabet, Potter?" Draco snickered. "But yes, I know of people who have tried to get rid of it, desperate as they are to fit into the new wizarding world. It's never fun to be on the losing side."

"Did it work?"

"I don't know." Draco shrugged. "And I don't care, to be honest. But enough of that," Draco said suddenly, sitting up against the headboard. "Time to make me a gigantic breakfast, Potter, I'm starving."

"What? What makes you think you deserve breakfast? I made it for you last weekend!"

"Well, I am your guest, for one. I know you people don't quite have the same grasp of etiquette as we pure-bloods do, but still." Draco folded his arms across his chest. "Breakfast. Now."

"How about we do it together?"

Draco looked horrified. "Me, Potter? Have you forgotten who you're talking to, exactly?"

"Er–"

"I'm a Malfoy," Draco said very seriously, lifting his chin up. "Malfoys don't cook."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really? So how do you feed yourself if you don't cook?"

"House-elves."

"House-elves? In your flat?" Draco froze visibly at Harry's words and Harry's smile faltered. "What?"

"Nothing." Draco got up abruptly and headed for the door.

"Wait!" Harry called after him, but Draco was already in the living room. Harry tried to get up as well, but his feet tangled in his sheets, nearly sending him crashing to the floor. "Shit." He dashed to the living room. "Draco? What's wrong?"

The only answer Harry got was the bathroom door slamming shut. He sighed. They'd got better at understanding each other, Draco and he, especially over the last few days, but there was still a long way to go. Harry still wasn't entirely fluent in _Draco Malfoy._

He sighed, picking his pants and tee-shirt from the floor and got dressed. He headed to the kitchen and put the kettle on, shaking his head. _What did you expect,_ he chided himself. _You're dating Draco Malfoy._ He sighed again, and took the eggs from the cooling cupboard.

* * *

Draco emerged from the bathroom some fifteen minutes later, wearing a pair of black boxers, just as Harry added bacon to the scrambled eggs and baked beans that were already on their plates.

"I suppose you'll want an explanation?" Draco snarled.

"That would be nice, yes," Harry snapped, letting the pan clank loudly on the stove. He turned around, leaning on the counter and folding his arms, facing Draco.

"I lied," Draco spat. "Yeah, I know, bad mean Death Eater scum who can't even tell the truth."

Harry had the strange feeling that the scorn was directed at Draco himself rather than at him. He shook his head. "You're not making any sense."

"I don't have a flat, Potter," Draco hissed. "Never had one. There. You happy?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "That's it? That's what got your knickers in a twist?"

Draco narrowed his eyes and came closer, but Harry didn't move an inch. "Am I not already pathetic enough, having waited until I was fucking twenty-five to sleep with someone?" He growled, his breath hot on Harry's face. "Did you really want me to tell you that I still live at my parents' as well?"

"So that's what the whole thing is all about? That's what you're ashamed of?" Harry's eyes were now wide open in disbelief. "That's ridiculous."

"Ridiculous to you, maybe, but–"

"Oh, Draco." Harry shook his head again. "That's not what I meant, you know it. I don't care about you living at your parents', seriously."

Draco narrowed his eyes, biting his bottom lip as Harry held his breath, bracing himself. Draco stared intently at him, and Harry would have given half his vault in Gringotts to know what was going on inside his head right this instant.

He didn't have to wait for long. As suddenly and unexpectedly as ever, Draco's mouth curled up into a smirk and the atmosphere changed at once.

"What?" Harry asked, relief flooding through him.

"You should see your face," Draco said, his grin widening. "You look like you've just swallowed a broomstick and the bristles are having a hard time finding their way out."

Harry bit back a grin and narrowed his eyes. "This," he said, pointing a finger at his face as he tried to sound indignant. "Is what compassion looks like. You should try it sometimes, you bastard."

"Questioning my lineage, Potter? I have documents stating that the Malfoys are–"

"Shut up." Harry laughed and reached for Draco, curling a tentative hand around his neck. When Draco leaned into his touch, Harry wrapped his other arm around his waist, bringing their bodies together. "God, you're something else," he said, grinning against Draco's shoulder.

"Well, what did you expect?" Draco muttered in his neck and Harry's smile widened at the words echoing his own.

Harry rested his forehead on Draco's shoulder and closed his eyes, breathing him in, letting the wonderfully familiar scent fill his nostrils. He brushed his lips against Draco's neck, and smiled when Draco let out a barely audible moan.

"Do your parents know about this? About us?" Harry asked, eyes still closed, as he ran his hands over the soft skin of Draco's back.

Draco tensed at once. "No. I'm not… quite ready to have this discussion just yet."

"That's fine." Harry's hands moved lower, settling on Draco's arse. "Take your time."

Draco pushed Harry back against the counter and pinned him with his hips. Harry held his breath as Draco scrutinised him, and then forgot about everything else when Draco crushed their mouths together and kissed him senseless.

Harry tightened his hold on Draco's arse, pulling their groins harder together, letting out a wanton moan as he felt their cocks grow and harden through their clothes. They pushed against each other, seeking more friction, soon grinding shamelessly. Harry felt Draco's fingers grip his waist, and the heat of Draco's mouth against his jawline.

Harry's hands slid to Draco's front and Draco caught Harry's mouth in his again as Harry touched him through his underpants, hopelessly aroused as he hooked his fingers in Draco's waistband.

"Fuck, yes," Draco panted against Harry's mouth, kisses hot and urgent and almost desperate as Harry pushed his underpants down his thighs in one swift motion.

Harry's boxers received the same treatment, and Harry pulled Draco closer still, sliding their cocks together and circling his fingers around them.

"Oh, God, yes!" Draco moaned, throwing his head back as Harry used the precome leaking from their cocks to ease the friction. Harry increased the movement of his wrist, watching in fascination at their dicks rubbing against each other. Draco's desperate pants and moans and frantic thrusts threatened to bring Harry over the edge rather quickly, but he focused on Draco, on having him come first.

A very recognisable whooshing sound coming from the fireplace had them freeze in place. Harry removed his hand swiftly and closed his eyes, burying his face in Draco's neck, trying to pretend that whoever had stumbled into his living room didn't now have an unmistakable view on Draco's naked arse.

Said person let out a loud gasp, and for the first time since he'd moved in, Harry regretted the fact his open-plan kitchen gave onto the living-room.

He felt Draco's warm breath in his neck as he asked in a breath, "Who is it?"

"Don't know," Harry replied in the same tone, face still buried into Draco's shoulder. "Can't look."

"You're a Gryffindor, Potter, you're supposed to be the brave one."

Harry could almost feel him rolling his eyes. He finally found it in him to look up when Draco pulled away.

Harry let out a breath of relief when he saw Hermione standing with her back on them.

Draco swiftly pulled his pants back up, before turning around and folding his arms across his bare chest. "Terrible timing, Granger," he said nonchalantly, as if girls stumbling in on his naked bum was a common occurrence in his life.

Harry finally remembered he still had his own bits out and swiftly pulled his own boxers back up.

"Can I– Is it safe to look?" Hermione said hesitantly.

"Er, it is now," Harry answered, his cheeks burning.

She slowly turned around, her hands still on her eyes. "You sure it's safe?"

Draco rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but Harry beat him to it. "Yes."

Hermione reluctantly removed her hands from her face. "Morning, Harry," she said with an uneasy smile. "Draco." She blushed.

Draco nodded at her, an elaborate bored expression on his face as he leaned against the counter.

Harry cleared his throat. "Did– Did you need anything?"

"Oh, no. Not really, I just–" She glanced at Draco before hastily returning to Harry. "Ron's at the shop and I wanted to see if you were okay, if you had managed to remove the little heart and…" she trailed off, her cheeks flaming.

"Well, as you can see, I, er, managed," Harry replied, shuffling his feet.

"Oh, yes, you did," Draco said in a very suggestive manner. "You _managed_ rather well, I must say. Twice that night, and then again the next morning. Although the way you _managed_ this morning was pretty good too."

Harry elbowed him and Hermione turned even redder.

"Well," she said, "I see that you have everything under control, then, I'll–"

She was interrupted by the majestic eagle owl that flew through the open window.

Harry felt Draco tense at once as he recognised his father's bird. He took the letter and shooed the owl away.

"Well," Draco said in a way that was too detached to be entirely believable. "I'm sure you have fascinating things to discuss, so I won't linger." He wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and pressed a languorous kiss to his lips. "Try not to talk too much about me," he added against Harry's lips before he made his way to the bedroom, his letter in hand.

He paused at the door frame and turned to Hermione who still stood by the sofa. "Oh, and Granger?"

"What?"

"Next time you want to get an eyeful of this gorgeous body," Draco said, pointing at his bare chest. "Owl me, and we'll arrange something." He winked at her, before disappearing into the bedroom.

Hermione was still gaping as the door slammed behind him.

Harry smiled apologetically as he walked to her. "Well…"

"What– How–" She blinked. "Malfoy?"

Harry had rarely seen her so incoherent.

"Well, yes." He shrugged.

"But he's–"

"Irresistible? Ruggedly handsome? Startlingly clever?" came the amused voice from behind the bedroom door.

Harry couldn't repress a chuckle.

"Really?" mouthed Hermione, slumping down on the sofa.

Harry sat next to her, twitching his fingers nervously. "Yes."

"But he's your partner," Hermione said. "I mean, your Auror partner. And you know that according to—"

"I like him," Harry said, lowering his voice. "I really do."

"Of course, you do," Draco's shouted again through the door. "How could you not?"

Harry rolled his eyes. " _Accio_ _Extendable Ears,_ " he said, and sure enough, the bedroom door opened and a pair of Extendable Ears flew to Harry's hand.

Draco's face appeared through the opening. "You're no fun," said Draco, a pout on his lips.

"I know." Harry smiled. "We can't all be like you."

"Indeed." Draco thrust his chest out. "I am unique."

Harry chortled. "That you are."

Draco beamed and went back inside the bedroom.

"Seriously, Harry?" Hermione took the Extendable Ears from him and turned them over in her hand before discarding them on the couch. She looked up at Harry again. "I believe you when you say you care for him, but what if Robards finds out?"

"It's not forbidden–"

"I know." She sighed. "But I also know that Robards will jump at any chance to make your life even more miserable."

"I don't care."

"Even if he separates you? Gives you both other partners? Uses it to pressure you? And that's without mentioning the fact that this could seriously distract you from your work, and prevent you to be as effective and efficient as your supposed to be."

"I–" Harry had not really thought about the whole thing, to be honest. But now that Hermione mentioned it, he had to admit that dating his Auror partner might not be seen as the wisest choice. "I don't—" he started, but the words wouldn't come out and to be honest, the idea of having an argument with Hermione right after the one with Draco wasn't appealing at all. "Right," he conceded. "We'll be careful."

Hermione scrutinised him in her very unique way, trying to read him in. "Good," she finally said as she seemed to have found answers on Harry's face. Her features softened at once. "Are you happy?"

"I am."

She nodded. "Does Ron–"

"I told him yesterday."

"Really?" A small cleft formed between her eyes. "And what did he say?"

"About the same things you just did."

She smiled, a fond look settling on her face. "Well…"

"So that's…" Harry asked cautiously. "I mean, what do you…" He waved a hand in the air, hoping Hermione would understand him despite his inability to form coherent sentences.

She took a breath and her eyes fell on the floor. "Well, you know what I think of the Malfoys."

"I'm not dating his family," Harry's tone was more defencive than he would have liked.

She lifted her head to look at him and smiled gently. "I know." She took his hand in hers. "And I also know Draco's… worked hard to, well, redeem himself, in a way."

"But?" Harry couldn't help asking.

Hermione bit her lips and seemed to be searching for the right thing to say next. After a couple of second, she shook her head and smiled. "Just, please be careful, okay?"

"What do you—"

"Nothing. It's fine. Really."

Harry knew her well enough to know that it was useless to push her. "All right."

"So, how's your job, then?"

"Well, it's…" Harry hesitated. "Interesting. We finally have a real case."

"Oh?"

"Yes. As Draco would say, with a dead body and all that."

This time she smiled. "Well, that sounds exciting."

"It is." Harry told her about the case and what they had so far.

* * *

Draco jumped when Harry opened the door to the bedroom after Hermione was gone, his gaze unfocused as he sat on the bed. He hastily put his father's letter away.

"What does he want?" Harry asked.

Draco looked up at him, a slight cleft between his eyebrows. "Nothing. He just– He reminded me that I am supposed to go and have lunch with them tomorrow."

"Oh." Harry wanted to ask why Lucius felt the need to owl his son about lunch when they lived together, but thought better of it. "Will you go, then?"

Something passed over Draco's face and then his expression softened. "Of course. They're my parents."

"Okay." Harry decided to drop the subject. "I'm supposed to go to the Burrow anyway."

Draco nodded. "Good." He stood up and discarded the letter on the chair, next to his robes.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without any more mention of either Lucius Malfoy or Ron and Hermione. They used the files they'd brought from the Ministry to work on the case in between bouts of lazy sex.

They went back to the cinema that night. Harry didn't care much for the film, really; he didn't even know what it was about. Just like the last time, Draco made a show of himself. Harry just sat there, fingers laced with Draco's, as Draco commented loudly on each and every single thing happening on the screen, comments accompanied by dramatic gestures. As always, he seemed unaware of the stir he caused among the thankfully very few people in the room.

Afterwards, they had dinner at the local Muggle pub, and went home slightly tipsy. They were all over each other as soon as the front door closed, kissing hungrily and undressing frantically.

They didn't make it to the bedroom.

The next morning, Draco left early to spend the day with his parents, and Harry met Ron and Hermione at the Burrow, light-headed and carefree in the warm sunshine.

* * *

"You're late," Draco said the next day as Harry pushed the door to their office. He looked delectable, impeccably dressed as he was in his usual flannel trousers and matching waistcoat over a pristine white shirt.

"Good morning to you, _darling,"_ Harry replied with a smirk. "I've missed you too."

Draco removed his glasses and folded them neatly on his desk. "You're a slacker, Potter."

"It's seven fifteen!"

"Well, an aspiring Head Auror should be at work at the crack of dawn. Really, you should follow my example."

"Oh, not again." Harry rubbed his still sleepy eyes under his glasses before hanging up his cloak. He had not slept well that night, and had tossed and turned in his bed for hours, unable to sleep as his mind kept wandering between their cases at the Ministry, his way-too-quiet flat and ridiculously big empty bed. "Please tell me your father hasn't given you _the_ speech again."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Of course not. You know very well Father would never—"

"Use every single means in his power to fulfil his ultimate goal of you restoring the Malfoy name by following every single step he'd planned for your life since before you were even born?"

"That was a very long sentence." Draco snorted and Harry rolled his eyes. "And of course not since before I was born. Shall I remind you that he's had to slightly alter his grand plans regarding my future since a certain someone killed the Dark—"

"Voldemort."

"… the Dark Voldemort?"

"Okay," Harry said, smiling despite himself. "What did you talk about then?"

Draco leaned back in his chair. "Well, he did mention giving money to a certain number of high-ranking officials," he said very seriously, "but I'm sure it has nothing to do with buying my way up to Head-Aurorship."

Harry grinned. "Of course not."

"I'm glad we agree, Potter." Draco stood and walked the couple of feet that separated him from Harry. He grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt and crushed his mouth on him, snogging him senseless, as if it'd been years since they'd seen each other instead of barely twenty-four hours.

Relief flooded through Harry at the kiss. A small part of him was always afraid Draco would somehow 'come to his senses' after spending time with his parents and break things with him to marry a pure-blood witch in order to satisfy his father.

Thankfully, it didn't seem that way at all, and Harry chided himself for his ridiculous, insecure thoughts.

"Now enough chitter-chatter," Draco said as he pulled back. "Go and fetch the Autopsy report."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suggest you go and get it yourself."

"Me, Potter? Are you crazy?" Draco asked. "No, don't answer that." He shook his head. "I obviously can't go myself."

"Why not?"

"Because _I_ have work of the utmost importance to do," Draco said in a dramatic tone, walking back to sit at his desk. "The sake of the Wizarding World is in my hands."

"Wait." Harry frowned. "What work?"

"Answering all of your fan mail, of course." Draco smiled in a devilish way as he put his glasses back on and went through a rather impressive pile of parchments.

"Answering my- What?"

"Your fan mail, Potter. You know the mail—"

"No." Harry pointed his finger at Draco in a way he hoped was intimidating enough. "You don't get to answer my fan mail."

"Well, since you're not doing it—"

"Of course I'm not doing it!"

"So, someone has to do it, then. You don't want all these drooling fans of yours to wallow in misery because you can't form a proper sentence to save your own life?"

Harry folded his arms across his chest. " _I_ can't form a proper sentence?"

"Well..." Draco snorted, looking haughtily at Harry from head to toe.

"Very well, then," Harry said, narrowing his eyes a little. He flicked his wand and lifted a massive stack of folders from his desk on to Draco's. "I suppose you'll have to write all these reports then, since I can't form a proper sentence to save my own life."

Draco opened his mouth and closed it again, in this very special way he had when caught at his own game, brows furrowed in search of a clever repartee. He lifted his eyebrows and Harry knew he'd found something.

Draco rested his elbows on his desk. "Shall I remind you that the Minister of Magic himself, our dearest Kingsley Shacklebolt - by the way, what kind of a name is this?" Draco frowned, temporarily distracted by yet another brilliant idea crossing his mind. "I mean, don't you find that the name itself exudes naughtiness? The Shackles, the… bolts," he said pensively and shook his head. "Never mind. The Minister _himself_ has asked me not to write reports ever again, and it is my duty to follow the orders of our one and only spiritual guide."

Harry tossed a glance at the ridiculous stick figure in lieu of a report framed above Draco's desk, the very last time Draco had indeed filled a report.

"Of course, it is," Harry said. "But don't you dare answering my fan mail."

"Ordering me, Potter?" Draco said in a suggestive tone. He got to his feet and stroke Harry's cheek with the back of his finger. "I like that."

Harry laughed. "I didn't know you were the submissive type, Malfoy."

Draco raised his brow suggestively. "You'd be surprised."

"Really?" Harry replied, feeling a tingle of interest in his groin. "Well, in the meantime, we have a job to do." He pressed a kiss to Draco's lips.

"Mmm, you sure you don't want to take a break?" Draco said against Harry's lips.

"Er, as tempting as it sounds, I've barely just got here." Harry cupped Draco's head and kissed him deeper.

"Really?" Draco moaned against Harry's mouth.

"Yes, really. That's the reason we're here, remember?"

Draco kept kissing him. "To do our job?"

"To- _Oh,_ " Harry bent his head to give Draco better access to his neck and closed his eyes. "Yes, that."

"So you mean," Draco went on, licking and biting at the tender flesh of Harry's neck. "That we should stop this and do our job?"

"Yes. God." Harry panted. "Yes, we— we have to."

"Right," Draco said, pulling off abruptly and holding Harry at arm's length. "Well, do your job and go and get the autopsy report, then."

"You fuck!" Harry narrowed his eyes. "You're lucky to be pretty good in bed, I tell you."

"I know." Draco preened. "I'm brilliant at everything I do."

"And pretty humble, too," Harry said, trying to repress a smile and failing admirably. "In the meantime, do not touch my fan mail."

Draco put his hand on his chest. "Malfoy honour."

"And that's supposed to reassure me?"

"Of course, Potter. Now, go."

* * *

Harry made his way through the corridors of the DMLE, passing the heavy double doors leading to the very end of a dimly lit corridor. The parchment on the wooden door of the tiny office read _Claudia Stevens, St Mungo's correspondent._

Claudia had been transferred from St Mungo's to the DMLE after the lab of the Auror Office had accidentally blown up a couple of weeks before, seriously injuring the two witches working in it. Despite the glaring need of such a lab in the Department, it still had to be rebuilt. In the meantime, all the tests were done outside of the Ministry.

The door was open, but Harry knocked anyway.

"Hi, Claudia," he said to the young brunette sitting at a small desk.

"Harry!" Her face brightened when she saw him. She hastily removed her bright red glasses and discarded them on her desk. "What brings you here? Not that I'm not happy to see you."

He smiled. "I'm here for the Jugson case."

Claudia frowned. "The Jugson case?"

"Yes. Have you not heard from St Mungo's yet?"

"Oh, yes, I have. But I'm afraid I don't have the report anymore."

It was Harry's turn to frown. "What do you mean?"

"Let me take a look." Claudia put her glasses back on and ruffled through a large pile of parchments on her desk. "Here." She took out a piece of paper from the pile. "Yes, that's what I thought. Someone's already asked for it."

"Do you know who it was?"

"Apparently, it was someone from your office."

"The Aurors?"

Claudia nodded.

"Do you know who, exactly?"

She took another look at the paper and shook her head. "No. I'm sorry. It's odd, though, there should be a name on this."

Harry took a deep breath. "That's fine, don't worry. Thank you so much."

Harry turned to leave but Claudia called after him. "How's Draco?"

Harry smiled. "He's fine."

"Good. Tell him I said hi."

"I will."

* * *

Harry was fuming as he made his way back to the Auror quarters, not slowing down until he'd reached the imposing door that bore a shiny plaque reading: _Zacharias Smith,_ _Assistant Head Auror._ He knocked angrily and barged in without waiting for an answer.

Zacharias Smith's office was in the image of its occupant: pretentious and shallow. A huge picture of him smiling smugly hung on the wall behind his desk, reminding Harry of Gilderoy Lockhart. Smith sat in a huge dragon-hide chair behind a massive mahogany desk.

"Potter," he said in a complacent tone. He didn't offer Harry a seat.

"Why did you take the autopsy report?" Harry snarled.

Smith leaned back in his chair, letting it swivel idly back and forth, his hands clasped loosely over his stomach, a self-satisfied smile on his face that Harry wanted to slap off, badly.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, Auror Potter."

Harry's hands tightened into fists at his sides. "You know very well what I'm talking about."

"Do I, now?"

"The Jugson case."

"Oh, _that_ case." Smith leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. His look hardened. "You mean the case your partner stole from the other, more _deserving_ Aurors?"

"Define, deserving," Harry said through clenched teeth, even though he knew very well what Smith meant.

Smith slitted his eyes and said in a low voice. "Aurors whose father wasn't You-Know-Who's wing man, Aurors who didn't welcome him in their home, Aurors who didn't let a bunch of despicable scum into a school full of children, Aurors who are _not_ wearing the Dark Mark… Shall I go on?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "At least he didn't desert the battlefield when it was time to fight."

"I know he did something irregular," Smith snarled, his nostrils flaring and his eyes filled with hatred.

Harry lifted his chin in defiance. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't worry, Potter, I will find out how he did it, and when I do, I won't let it pass, believe me."

"Be my guest."

Smith stood up abruptly. "You are such a disappointment, Potter. Always have been. I have no idea why people worship you so much."

He rounded his desk and stepped closer but Harry didn't move an inch. He tightened significantly when Smith invaded his personal space, but still said nothing.

"I might not be able to get rid of you," Smith growled, his acrid breath now brushing Harry's face, "But I'll get rid of him and his kind as soon as I can."

Harry laughed in Smith's face. "Yeah, you tell yourself that," he said, patting Smith's shoulder.

"Don't you dare touch me."

"Why, afraid you'd like it too much?"

Smith glared daggers at Harry. "You wish, Potter. Fortunately, I do not share this deviance of yours."

"You know you can't stop me from having it."

Smith smirked. "Really?"

"Unlike you, _I_ have read the Code of Conduct of the Aurors. You can't withhold information vital to the investigation."

"Ah, but since you seem to know all the rules, _Auror_ Potter, you'll know that every single document has to pass into the hands of the Head Auror."

"Which you are not, _Auror_ Smith."

"Not yet." Smith pulled back, looking hatefully gleeful.

"In your pathetic dreams, Zacharias."

"We'll see." Smith walked back to his pretentious chair and sat again. "I'll send the autopsy report as soon as I can, but unfortunately, Head Auror Robards is a very busy man. Pity, really." he said in a condescending tone. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Fine." Harry seethed.

He slammed the door as he left.

* * *

Harry spent the whole way back cursing Smith under his breath. He couldn't believe a slick bastard like Smith had managed to become the Head Auror's assistant. But then, that was only a fraction of what didn't work well in the Department. He sighed as he reached the corridor to their office and froze, forgetting about the autopsy report at once. The door to their office was slightly ajar and through the slit, Harry saw Draco standing in the middle of the room, his eyes narrowed, focused on his wand on the floor. Harry frowned and remained hidden, curious to see what on earth Draco could be up to this time.

 _"_ _Accio wand,"_ Draco said.

Nothing happened and Harry held his breath behind the door. Draco took a step closer to his wand and held out his hand in front of him, in a way that reminded Harry of his first flying lesson with Madam Hooch.

 _"_ _Accio wand."_

Still, nothing happened, and Harry could see Draco's frustration growing on his face.

"Bugger." Draco muttered. " _Accio Wand._ "

Harry decided it was time to show himself. He took a few silent steps back, and then walked closer. He cleared his throat loudly to give Draco time to collect himself. He heard Draco hastily pick up his wand and hop on his desk as he pushed the door open.

"Finally!" Draco was sitting nonchalantly on the edge of his desk, his reading glasses on and a piece of parchment in his hand. "Are you done gallivanting?"

"I wasn't-" Harry shook his head. "Never mind."

"Does poor Claudia know that you only bat your eyes at men?"

"Everybody does," Harry retorted. "It was all over the _Prophet_ when I came out." Harry settled between Draco's legs. "She says hi, by the way." Harry leaned forward to kiss Draco.

"Oh. Good. Here." Draco shoved the piece of parchment he'd been holding in Harry's face because kissing of any kind could happen.

Harry took it and examined it. "What? What is it? Why does it have my name on it?"

"Because this is _my_ sheet, Potter." Draco said impatiently. "Now, it's your turn."

Harry frowned, taking another look at the paper, then up at Draco again. He looked expectant, as if he waited for Harry to do something. Harry remembered what the _Be an Amazing Auror!_ book had taught him about the procedure to follow when handling slightly unstable people. Entertain them. Not that Draco would be considered unstable but…

Harry went to his desk, opened his drawer and took out a blank piece of parchment on which he wrote down Draco's name. He then handed it to Draco. "There you go."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You have to fill it, Potter. _Obviously._ "

"Okay, so, I did know what I got myself into when you and I started dating, but this is getting weirder by the minute. What do you expect me to write on this piece of paper, exactly?"

Draco huffed, his arms crossed over his chest and his foot tapping impatiently on the floor. "Names, of course."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Names."

"Yes."

"Could you maybe be more specific?"

"I could, yes."

Harry raised an eyebrow again. "So?"

Draco came closer to Harry, towering him. "Do you really want me to humiliate myself by spelling it out for you, Potter?" he growled.

"Don't _Potter_ me. You're not making any sense!" _As usual,_ the tiny voice in Harry's head supplied.

"I should have thought that it was obvious!" Draco said loudly, his face growing pinker.

Harry folded his arms. "Well, it's not."

"Fine," Draco said through clenched teeth. He grabbed the paper he'd given Harry a moment ago and shoved it in Harry's face. " _This_ is the list of all the people I've slept with."

"But it's not a list!" Harry yelled. "There's only my name written on it!" He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. "Oh."

"Yes, oh." Draco spat. "Now can you write down their names?"

"You—" Harry asked cautiously. "You want me to write the names of all the people I've been with?"

"Yes."

"But why? I mean it doesn't matt-"

"It matters to me," Draco said, his breath hitching, something vulnerable passing on his face.

"All right," Harry agreed. "I'll do it."

Draco's shoulders sagged and Harry could see the tension leaving his body instantly. He didn't want to think about how much Draco must have agonised over the whole non-existent issue.

"Come here," Harry murmured. He cupped Draco's face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs before planting a soft, chaste kiss on Draco's lips. He pulled back and searched Draco's eyes, removing a loose strand of hair from Draco's forehead before cupping the back of his head and pulling Draco to him in a gentle hug.

Harry wasn't sure Draco would let go easily, but somehow he did, resting his forehead on Harry's shoulder and letting out another long sigh. Harry tried to put everything he could into their embrace, everything to reassure Draco, to tell him without words that it was okay, that it didn't matter one second whether they'd been with other people before or not, because what they had was so different from what Harry had known until then, and it was ridiculous, really, because it'd only been a week, and it shouldn't be that intense that soon, but—

A loud click of the door made them jump back a mile away from each other. A second later, Blaise barged into their office.

"How are you two lovebirds doing?" he said and Harry's heart skipped a beat. Surely Blaise hadn't seen them, they'd been too fast, he never could—

"Same as you and Bones, I suppose," Draco replied in an even tone, face perfectly composed. "A little bit of shagging on the side."

Blaise winced. "Yuck, never going to happen, you perv. I'm not into suffering that much."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you tell yourself that, Zabini." He went to sit at his desk and put his glasses back on. "What's that?" he asked Blaise, and only then did Harry notice that Blaise was holding a red folder in his hand.

"Oh, this? Well, I heard you two were working on the Jugson case?"

Draco nodded. "We are."

"I won't ask how on earth you got this case, but I thought you might find what I have interesting."

"What's in it?" Harry said, coming closer.

"Well, in February last year, Jugson filed a complaint that Bones and I were asked to deal with."

"Really?"

"Yes," Blaise went on. "Apparently, he'd received serious threats from another wizard, and he sought protection from us."

"Jugson?" Harry asked. "I mean, why would a former Death Eater seek the help of the Aurors?"

"He probably didn't have anyone to turn to anymore," Draco replied dryly. "I mean, lots of people turned their backs on us as soon as we'd lost the war."

Harry winced at Draco's use of the pronoun. "These threats must have been pretty serious though, for him to seek protection."

"They were," Blaise said, tapping on the folder once with his wand to have it open. "Look."

Harry and Draco leaned forward and took a glance at several hate letters that didn't leave any doubt as to what the aggressor would do to Jugson if they could get their hands on him.

"What happened?" Harry asked. "Did you catch the guy?"

"We did. Interviewed him, and got a thorough, written confession."

"Good."

"And then we released him with a slap on the wrist."

"Released him?" Harry said, dumbfounded. "With everything you had against him?"

"Well, yes. Apparently that wasn't enough for Robards. He said we already had too many things to deal with and that we'd better let him go."

"What?" Harry said. "But that's-"

"Who was the guy?" Draco cut in. "The aggressor."

"Let me see," Blaise skimmed the documents once more. "There. One Stanley Shunpike."

"Stan Shunpike?" Harry asked.

Draco turned to him. "You know him?"

"Of course, I do. He was the conductor of the Knight Bus, but was Imperiused by Voldemort during the war. He tried to kill me."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes. He…" Harry shrugged. "Long story."

Blaise and Draco remained silent, looking at him expectantly. He took a deep breath and started retelling what had happened that night. The words caught in his throat only once, when he remembered with a pang how Hedwig had died that very night.

"I was casting Stunning Spells after Stunning Spells, trying to keep the Death Eaters at bay, but then Stan's hood slipped and I recognised him and I knew I couldn't— I mean, I couldn't kill him, so I tried to Disarm him and that's how they knew it was the real me."

Blaise and Draco had remained silent until then, drinking Harry's words. "What happened then?" Draco asked.

"They Summoned Voldemort and he attacked me. We fought, but he didn't catch me." Harry chuckled. "I mean, obviously."

Another silence. It wasn't much what had happened that night, not compared to everything Harry had been through before and after that, but it probably was a different story for others. He'd never discussed any of it with people outside of the Order, people who obviously had been there all along and knew how things were at the time.

"Well, well," Blaise said as Draco remained silent, something odd passing through his eyes as he kept staring at Harry with something akin to… awe? No, probably not awe, but a certain… amazement, maybe, at what had happened?

Draco caught Harry's gaze and he straightened up, regaining composure.

"So, that guy, Shunpike," Draco said. "That means he'd have a serious motive to kill Jugson."

"If we knew for sure that Jugson didn't top himself, that is," Harry replied bitterly.

"What do you mean?"

Harry sighed. "I couldn't get the autopsy report."

"You mean you had this one thing to do and you took all your bloody time to do it and you haven't even got it?"

"Yes," Harry said again. "Smith's a bastard. A fucking, smug, arrogant prick."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Tell us something we don't know."

"He says we can't have the report before Robards sees it, which I know is fucking procedure, but it's usually only a formality. And now Smith is going to wait until the very last minute to show him and we're going to lose precious hours, or even days, while we could already be working on it."

"Are you done?" Draco said.

Harry sighed. "Yes."

"Good. Now, let me think."

"Honestly, Draco, we don't have t—"

Draco raised a finger and Harry rolled his eyes. Draco sat on the edge of Harry's desk and rested his elbows on his knees, chin on his thumbs and index fingers framing his face in his thinking pose.

"Right, I'll leave the file to you then," Blaise said, discarding the red folder on Draco's desk. "I have to go. Bones has probably launched a search party to find me by now."

"Thanks for the file," Harry said.

"You're welcome. See you later then." And Blaise left.

Harry went to his desk and sat in his chair. They probably wouldn't have the autopsy report before the next day, so in the meantime, they'd have to move blindly, emit hypotheticals with what they had and hope they wouldn't waste too much time. Smith would have a field day if they screwed this up.

"Lend me your Cloak." Draco's voice took Harry out of his thoughts.

"What, my Invisibility one?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, Potter, your regular Auror one. As if that'd be of any use."

"Are you going to get the report?"

"Ten points for Gryffindor," Draco said jumping from the desk. " _We_ are going to get it. Now where is it?"

"It's in the pocket of my Auror cloak." Harry opened his mouth to Summon his cloak wandlessly, but after what he'd witnessed earlier on, he thought better of it and reached for his wand instead. _"Accio Auror cloak,"_ he said, flicking his wand.

There was a movement on the rack where Harry had hung his Auror cloak that morning and a moment later, the scarlet cloak was in his hand. He rummaged through his inside pocket and took out his Invisibility Cloak and handed it to Draco.

"Right," Draco said as he snatched it from Harry. "Here's the plan."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, they stumbled back into their office, laughing like crazy, the autopsy report in their possession.

"And that's a hundred points for team Malfoy-Potter!" Draco said, discarding the report on Harry's desk.

Harry shoved Draco against the nearest wall and pinned him hard. "Team _Potter_ -Malfoy, you mean."

Draco scoffed. "You wish."

"Shut up," Harry said, still laughing.

Draco slitted his eyes. "Make me," he said defiantly.

Harry thrust his hips forward and Draco let out a moan.

"Whimpering, Malfoy?" Harry rolled his hips against Draco's again.

This time, Draco answered Harry's movement and it was Harry's turn to moan. Draco took advantage of it by disentangling himself from Harry's grip, and he pushed forward hard, making Harry lose his balance. Draco then shoved Harry back strongly and Harry fell to the floor, his breath hitching as Draco landed heavily on top of him, chasing all the air from his lungs at once as he straddled him. Draco then pinned Harry's wrists to the floor and pressed against him again.

Harry surrendered and lifted his head, crushing his mouth on Draco's in a messy, hot kiss.

"God, you're—" Harry said in between kisses.

"I know," Draco replied, breathless. He attacked Harry's mouth again.

Harry was dizzy with want, hard as a rock and desperate to have Draco take him right here and then, on the floor of their office.

Their _office._

"We—" Harry started, but moaned again as Draco devoured his neck. " _Oh._ We should—"

"Yeah," Draco panted against his skin, pressing his erection into Harry's. "We should." He started moving hard against Harry and Harry closed his eyes again. He didn't want this to stop, God, he needed Draco right now, but they couldn't, because what if someone came in, what if someone found them like that and—

There was a noise outside their door and it sobered them up instantly. Draco jumped to his feet, dishevelled, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from all the snogging, panting hard.

Harry stood as well and straightened his clothes.

"Hum, well," he said, at a loss for words.

"Yeah."

Harry cleared his throat and willed his heartbeat to slow down. "Mission accomplished, then, we have the autopsy report."

"Of course, we do," Draco said. "It was a brilliant, cunning plan, as always."

Harry smiled. "God, I nearly lost it when Smith suddenly stood up and nearly ran into us."

"Thankfully, _I_ was here to save the day," Draco declaimed, a hand on his chest.

"I'm glad I was of any help." Harry snorted. "It's not like _I_ was the one holding the Cloak while you took your bloody time to Summon the file."

Draco waved a hand dismissively. "Detail. As usual, _I_ was the mastermind of the operation." He sighed dramatically. "What would you be without me, Potter, seriously?"

"Sane?"

"You'd be wallowing in an ocean of boredom and misery."

Harry smiled again. "At the very least."

"Now, enough chatting. Let's take a look at the file."

Harry sat at his desk and Draco climbed on it, resting his foot against Harry's thigh. He Summoned his reading glasses from his desk and put them on.

Harry opened the folder that contained about thirty pages, and included information they had given the forensic wizard on the scene and in their very first report. The first page consisted of a table gathering all the basic information about Andrew Jugson —address, occupation, family, and so on— as well as the date and place of death.

Harry's eyes immediately went to the synopsis at the bottom of the page.

"Here," he said, pointing to it. He started to read aloud. _"As of today, and based on the elements in our possession, including the first observations and reports from Aurors Potter and Malfoy—"_

"Aurors _Malfoy_ and Potter," grumbled Draco next to him.

 _"_ _The cause of death is craniocerebral trauma_ _consistent with falling from a great high. However."_ And Harry felt a surge of excitement in the pit of his stomach. _"The uncertainties around the circumstances of the death and the presence of alien substances in the body do not allow us to determine the manner of death for now._ _The results of the autopsy will thus remain pending until the end of the investigation."_

Harry lifted his head and his eyes met Draco's in a silent conversation. A smile slowly formed on their face.

They had a case.


	4. Theories

**~CHAPTER 4~**

 **Theories**

* * *

"We have a case," Draco said with a smile.

"That we do." Harry had a hard time containing the thrill he felt at the thought that they indeed had a real case to work on.

Finally.

"Do you know what that means, Potter?"

"What?"

Draco's lips curled up in a smug grin. "It means that this Auror of the Year Award will soon be mine."

Harry shook his head. "I know I did this to myself," he said. "But it still hurts."

"Stop complaining, you love it. You love _me_."

Harry smiled in what he hoped was a mysterious, unreadable way. "Do I, now?"

Draco leaned forward. "Of course you do. It's inevitable. I am so incredibly lovable."

"Yeah, right. Well, in the meantime, we have a case to work on."

"Hurry up doing that little fancy Duplicating Charm of yours on the report then, and bring the original back before Smith realises the one he's got is not the right one."

"Are you not tired of bossing me around, seriously?"

"You know you love it. You love having someone take charge for once."

"Is that so, Dr. Malfoy?"

Draco frowned. "What is a-" He nodded. "Ah. Muggle thing."

"Yep." Harry took the report and performed the Duplicating Charm, which was a variant of the Gemino curse that really came in handy with the paperwork. A second copy of the autopsy report appeared next to the first one. Harry took the original report and walked to the coat rack to retrieve his Invisibility Cloak once more. "I'll be back in a moment," he said, his hand on the doorknob.

"And bring coffee as well," Draco said, glasses on his nose, already studying the report with great attention.

"Two sugars and a blow job?"

Draco smirked, finally lifting his eyes from the report. "That would be very much appreciated."

"Fuck off." Harry made his way out, smiling to himself.

* * *

Discovering Draco's fun side had been quite a shock to Harry. During Auror training, the two of them had done a marvellous job at ignoring each other as much as possible: Harry was still very suspicious as to what Draco's motives to join the Aurors really were and anyway, he had more pressing matters to deal with. Questions like, where did he stand with Ginny, or did straight men really let their eyes wander over fit Aurors' arses, resulting in the embarrassing tenting of their trousers -and thank God for robes that would hide even the most inconvenient body reactions- kept occupying the back of his mind.

The first six months after the end of Auror training had been really difficult for Harry. Not only did he have to mourn the fact that Ron had left the Aurors to join George at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, but to be partnered with Malfoy of all people had been the _coup de grâce_.

At the best of times, they only exchanged the very few words necessary to do their job. But most often than not, they would fight, spitting their disgust at the other and even coming to blows. Reports and various objects would regularly fly from one end of their office to the other. The result was they were often summoned in Robards' office.

The first change came when after Harry's endless complaints, he was partnered with Anthony Goldstein: boring, dull, awestruck Anthony Goldstein who made him regret Malfoy bitterly. And that was something.

The second change, the real shift in Harry's mind, had been after a rather difficult case. Years after the war, the Ministry still hadn't managed to put its hands on Rabastan Lestrange, no matter how much information Malfoy and his father had provided them with. The despicable bastard still ran the world free as a bird. The worst part of it all was that they were able to keep track of his exactions: horrible crimes towards Muggles that bore his very recognisable signature in the violence of their execution and the fact they were dedicated to the late 'Dark Lord'. But each and every single time, the various teams of Aurors and Unspeakables arrived too late to catch him.

It had become a personal matter to Kingsley as much as to the whole of the DMLE.

Finally, after months tracking the first serious lead they had on him, they'd found his very fresh trail in Argentina; Harry and Malfoy had Portkeyed there as soon as they'd heard of it, and along with a whole team from the Argentinian DMLE, had encircled Lestrange's residence.

After hours of merciless fight -that had cost the lives of half a dozen members of the local DMLE- they'd finally got to Lestrange. Harry and Draco's combined curses had rendered him completely helpless. But just as Harry was about to take him out of the house, Lestrange punched him and, surprised at the blow, Harry fell to the floor. Lestrange then Summoned his wand wordlessly and pressed it against Harry's throat. Harry would never forget the look on Draco's face when their eyes met. Horrified, but determined. His hand wasn't shaking as he raised his wand and cast a powerful _Avada Kedavra_ on Lestrange, his body slumping helplessly as Harry released himself from his grasp.

They talked a lot that night, finally saying in the open everything they had been keeping to themselves all these years. The moment Draco had understood the real nature of Voldemort, when he was still living in his house. The moment he'd realised no ideal was worth the death of innocent people. Draco's body still shook in disgust when he spoke about the time he discovered what Voldemort and his followers had done during the war. The random, unnecessary violence of it all. Until then, he'd closed his eyes to what was going on around him, convincing himself that people suffering and dying were the unpleasant yet unavoidable part of a war worth leading. It had taken him months to get over the worst of it. They talked about their nightmares. About finding their path. About knowing who they really, truly were deep inside, and not the distorted image the outside world broadcast everywhere.

It had really been eye-opening to Harry to realise how similar - yet of course very different - they were. How many things they had in common.

After that, nothing had ever been the same between them. They still fought and bickered, of course - you don't erase years of mistrust in a single night, after all - but it was different. Harmless. And more importantly, Harry was now sure of Draco. He knew he had his back. He trusted him. And that was a disturbing concept in the grand scheme of things.

It didn't stop Draco to be insufferable most of the time. As soon as they'd got back from Argentina, Draco, still very much basking in what he had achieved, answered a long interview that got him a double page in Witches Weekly. He gave juicy, imaginary details about Harry's life -and more precisely, his love life- leading Harry to receiving even more proposals than ever.

Draco then donated everything he'd earned from the interview to a fund he'd created to 'rescue the very rare endangered species living in Harry Potter's hair.'

He invented the 'Most Charming and Sexiest Auror Alive Award' for which he was of course the sole participant- and recipient.

He demonstrated loudly in the Atrium and petitioned to change the colour of the Auror robes because 'red really isn't my colour and I cannot do this to my fans.'

But that was not the worst of it all.

The worst of it all was it made Harry laugh. It made him laugh in a way he hadn't in months. Draco's eccentricities added this little touch of madness that Harry craved after all those years dealing with serious, life-threatening matters. It made him feel lighter.

And the more it made him laugh, the more Draco went on.

And the more Harry fell for him.

* * *

"Where's my coffee?" Draco asked over his glasses as soon as Harry came back - empty handed - to their office.

"Stuck in the lift with that blow job of yours."

"You're so mean, Potter," Draco retorted. "No wonder you were unable to keep a boyfriend all those years."

"Thank God you're sacrificing yourself to the cause, then."

"Indeed." Draco pushed his glasses up his nose with an ink-stained middle finger. "I very firmly intend to demand that a statue of myself replaces the Fountain of Magical Brethren in the atrium for exemplary bravery."

"God you're just—"

"I know." Draco searched Harry's eyes for a moment before averting his eyes. "So how did it go?"

"Great." Harry put his Invisibility Cloak back into the pocket of his red Auror one on the rack. "He wasn't even in his office, so it was pretty easy. Especially since the tosser can't even put proper wards on the door of his own office."

Draco smiled. "Good."

"What about you?" Harry went to stand behind Draco's chair, and rested a hand on his shoulder, Draco's skin warm through the fabric of his clothes. "Did you find anything interesting?"

Draco smiled. "I thought you'd never ask. Look." He took out a sheet from the autopsy report that was already covered in his neat, regular handwriting. "What do we have right now?"

"Well, the guy was apparently depressed," Harry said. "Not his usual self for the past weeks."

"And yet, there is no trace of any kind of Calming Draught or anything similar in the report."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Continue."

"We know he was seeing an unidentified woman who stopped visiting him a few days ago."

"Right," Harry said, sitting on Draco's desk. "So he's sad, he's lost the family home, he's got no job, no family, and the woman he supposedly sees doesn't come around anymore."

"Making the suicide theory relevant."

"However," said Harry. "There are still some serious questions that remain unanswered."

"Exactly," Draco said. "First: why did Jugson cast all these hexes before jumping off the cliff?"

"Especially since we know he was well and truly alone up there."

"And the witnesses both stated he looked afraid of something."

"But since there was nothing or no one up there with him..."

"He either saw something that neither witness caught, something that scared him enough to have him jump to his own death..."

"Or," Harry went on, hands slightly shaking in excitement. "He was afraid of something that _felt_ real to him but that nobody else could see."

Draco smiled in that rare, unguarded way that made Harry's heartbeat increase ten-fold. "What's your take on it, then?"

Harry's brain went into overdrive as a multitude of possibilities rushed through his head, ridiculous ones he discarded one after the other until he—

"Yes!" Harry stood up at once. "That's it!"

"Your conclusion?"

Harry's lips curled up in a smile. "Hallucinations."

Draco answered Harry's smile. "Well done, Potter. There you are." He pointed at the parchment on which he had circled the words _Psilocybe cubensis._

"Magic mushrooms," Harry murmured.

Draco nodded. "Among a rather impressive list of other substances, yes. Look."

Harry leaned forward. "Wow. That's a lot for such a tiny man."

"Indeed."

"Have you looked at them all?"

"Of course I have."

"And?"

"Well, they're all rather ordinary substances -traces of Pepperup, Healing draughts, things like that- except for three or four of them that are not as common as the others. And by that, I mean you need to know people in Knockturn Alley to get them. But that's not all." Draco took out another sheet from under the stack. "Among all these are a couple of others that are still…" Draco pointed at a line on the report. _"Undetermined or unknown."_

"Interesting, indeed." Harry grabbed one of the pictures of Jugson lying on the autopsy table at St Mungo's. Harry knew from his Auror training that the forensic wizards -unlike their Muggle counterparts- didn't open the bodies of the victims. Instead they cast complicated transparency charms that allowed them to peer at every single corner of the body. These powerful charms would be too dangerous on a living person but were very precious to determine the cause and manner of death on a cadaver. The forensic wizards also looked for points of impact made by potential curses that usually disappeared within minutes on a living person but would remain on a corpse. There was no sign of such an impact on Jugson, though, and Harry was about to put the picture down when he noticed something.

"What's this?" he asked Draco.

"What?"

"Here." Harry tapped the picture with his wand on Jugson's left ankle, zooming in on it and allowing them to have a clearer view of what had caught his eye.

Draco frowned. "Looks like a… stain or something."

"Exactly."

Draco rummaged through the report as Harry examined the greenish tinge more closely. It wasn't something very definite, more like a blemish on the skin, although nothing like a spot or an injury; it looked like a cheap faded green Muggle tattoo. Its shape made Harry think of a Chinese logogram. He scanned the rest of the body, looking for other similar traces, but found none.

"Nope." Draco put the papers back down on the desk. "Absolutely no mention of this thing whatsoever. Well spotted, Potter."

"What could it be, then?"

Draco shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know."

"Could it have been caused by some poison or—"

"Possible. We'll have to look through it at one point. But first, I'd like to work on all these substances."

"Right." Harry nodded. "Do you have enough to go on, then?"

"Oh, yes. Definitely," Draco said, making the serious face he always made when talking about his favourite topic -Potions, Poisons and Antidotes. "I'll just have to find a place to conduct my experiments, since those two idiots blew up the entire room."

"Shit, I'd forgotten about the lab. I suppose the temporary one is out of the question?"

Draco had a look of horror on his face. "That cupboard? Who could ever work in such terrible conditions?"

"Well, what about the Manor, then?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Draco's brows shot up in his hair. "Do you wish me to kill my parents with dangerous, toxic substances?" Harry opened his mouth to reply but Draco stopped him. "No, don't answer that."

"Well…"

Draco stood and started pacing the room. "No. What I need is an empty place, big enough that I can have what I need, but without too many people around to—"

"Wait a minute," Harry cut in. "I think I have the perfect place for you."

Draco stopped at once. "What is it?"

"I have a house. That is, an empty one."

"You have a house?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you living in this ridiculously tiny place you call a flat if you have a house?"

"Because…" Harry said. "I don't like it very much."

"Why not?"

"Let's say it's… steeped in Dark Magic, and well…" Harry shrugged.

Draco frowned. "Dark Magic? Good grief, Potter, what on earth is this house?"

"It was my godfather's."

Draco opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it. "And you wouldn't mind me using it for research purposes?"

"Absolutely not. Be my guest."

Draco clapped his hands together. "Wonderful! That's settled then. Now we have to determine if Jugson took those substances of his own volition…"

"…Or if anyone helped him," Harry finished. "I think we should go back to Jugson's flat and start over from there. See if we can identify this mysterious woman, because she certainly could teach us loads about him."

"Especially if she has something to do with his death."

"Definitely."

"We also have to check on Shunpike and his whereabouts at the time of Jugson's death."

"That too," Harry said, taking out the golden watch Mr and Mrs Weasley had given him on his seventeenth birthday. "Although that'll have to wait for after the meeting with Robards, I'm afraid. It's time to go."

* * *

The atmosphere was heavy in the conference room. Even buried several floors below the ground, Harry could hear the thunder rumbling over their head, making the whole atmosphere more electric than usual. Magical Maintenance had matched the windows with the weather outside, the lightning casting an even more dramatic light to the room.

"The current cases," Robards drawled from the other end of the table, after his usual boring, patronising speech. "Auror Smith?"

Smith puffed out his chest and cleared his throat, making sure everyone in the room paid attention to him.

Harry nearly rolled his eyes.

"Thank you, Head Auror Robards," Smith said in a syrupy tone. "We currently have six major cases. Three robberies involving the use of Magic -two in London and one in Cambridge. Proudfoot?"

Harry sighed and let his mind wander back to their own case. He hoped they'd be able to find the trace of the mysterious woman, because apart from that, and the lead Blaise had given them regarding Shunpike, they didn't have much. Oh, and the traces of the various substances, of course. He smiled when he remembered how happy Draco had looked when Harry had told him he'd found a place to make his experiments. Harry knew Draco had never liked the old, dusty lab of the DMLE, complaining endlessly about the lack of proper equipment and the proffered stupidity of its occupants.

He didn't know where he'd install Draco in Grimmauld Place, though. The kitchen was out of the question, and so was the drawing room Harry liked to use for his weekly lunches with Ron. Harry didn't think any of the bedrooms would do the trick either, so that didn't leave many options. The attic could be a good place, but it was way upstairs. Maybe the formal dining-room could do, if Draco were able to ignore the rather loud presence of Mrs Black's portrait on the same level. But then—

Draco elbowed him and Harry heard Smith pronounce the words _Jugson case_ , with a smug smile that didn't bode well for them.

"Who are the Aurors in charge of this case?" Robards asked the room.

"Malfoy and I," Harry replied.

"Oh yes, of course. How could I have forgotten."

Smith leaned towards Robards and murmured a few words in his ear.

"I see," Robards said again, putting his glasses back on his nose as Smith slid the very recognisable autopsy report in front of him. "I read here that the case is pretty simple."

"We don't know, sir," Draco said looking intently at Smith, "since we haven't got the autopsy report yet."

Smith whispered something else in Robards' ear. "Indeed, Auror Malfoy. I am a busy man. However, from what I see here, there is no need for an investigation. The case is pretty clear, I'm afraid. This… _Death Eater,_ " Robards said with a grimace of disgust, "visibly killed himself. I thus declare the case close."

"What? No!" Harry stood. "You can't do that!"

"You don't get to tell the Head Auror what he can or cannot do, Potter," sneered Smith.

"But Jugson didn't kill himself!"

"Oh yes?" Robards said again. "Well, please do enlighten us, then."

It was a trap; Smith and Robards somehow knew they'd smuggled the autopsy report. "The witnesses' testimonies."

"What about them?"

"They both stated that Jugson looked terrified of something before jumping."

"Well," smirked Smith. "He was about to jump off a cliff, of course he was afraid."

A few giggles rose in the room, but Harry ignored them.

"He was seen casting hexes," Harry said again. "We found traces of them, and yet, there was no one up there with him at the time of his death."

"Maybe he was just nuts like all of his kind," snorted Savage on Harry's right. Again, a few people chuckled and Harry glared at him.

"It doesn't stand," Harry said again. "And I'm sure the autopsy gives important information—"

"It doesn't," Smith cut in. "The guy killed himself. End of the story."

"I demand to see the autopsy report," Harry said firmly and there was a low murmur in the room. Harry knew he was pushing things, but he didn't really have a choice. He turned to Robards. "Sir."

Robards seemed to hesitate. He could barely refuse the Aurors in charge of the case to see a vital piece of information, after all. He nodded at Smith who snarled but complied. He sent the report flying at the other end of the room with his wand.

Draco caught it without batting an eyelid, his Seeker reflexes in full gear. "Thank you, Auror Smith," he said in a slick tone.

The room was eerily silent when they opened the report. Of course, they both knew what to look for, but pretended to read the rest of the page before reaching the conclusion.

"There," Harry said after a moment. He read the synopsis aloud, although he knew it by heart and didn't need the file for that. _"The cause of death is craniocerebral trauma_ _consistent with falling from a great high."_

"There you go," he heard Smith say in a triumphant tone.

 _"_ _However,"_ Harry went on, insisting on the word. _"The uncertainties around the circumstances of the death and the presence of alien substances in the body do not allow us to determine the manner of death for now. The results of the autopsy will thus remain pending until the end of the investigation."_

"See?" Draco said politely. "They need us to make sure it wasn't a suicide. There are enough grey areas for us to investigate."

Smith had turned red with anger, but there wasn't much for him to say. Not after the proof they'd just given the room. He leaned towards Robards again but Robards dismissed him with a flick of his hand. The gesture had Smith turn even redder and Harry felt a thrill of elation at the sight. It was hard to remain composed.

"Fine," Robards said. "The investigation is yours, Potter and Malfoy."

"Malfoy and Potter." Harry heard Draco mutter to himself.

"But I expect results. Very soon."

"You'll get them," Harry replied with a smile.

"Right, since there's nothing else on the agenda today," Robards said. "The meeting is closed."

* * *

"Up fucking yours, Smith!" Harry cried as soon as the door to their office was closed. "God, did you see his face when Robards dismissed him?"

Draco smiled. "It was hard not to notice. You were about to wet your pants, which I have to tell you is not sexy at all, Potter."

Harry shoved him against the wall, grinning like a loon. "I don't care." He kissed Draco. "We have a case and Smith can't do anything against us."

"Indeed."

Harry walked to his desk and grabbed the red folder Blaise had given them earlier on. "Right, so let's see what Shunpike has to tell us first, and then we'll go back to Jugson's flat."

Harry opened the file and started reading. Draco jumped on the desk and pressed his foot against Harry's thigh, leaning over Harry to read with him.

Harry skimmed through the file, going over Shunpike's information: everything was mentioned, from what had happened to him during the war, to his trial afterwards and to his whereabouts after that.

Harry froze. "Draco, look."

 _"_ _Current address."_ Draco slowed down as he read the last words. _"Azkaban Prison, North Sea."_

"I don't understand," Harry said. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Wait," Draco said again, tapping his wand on Shunpike's current address. Immediately, a paragraph appeared beneath it. "There."

Harry leaned forward. _"April 14th, 2005,"_ Harry lifted his head. "One year ago."

Draco nodded. "Go on."

 _"_ _The defendant cast an explosive spell, listed as 'Bombarda Maxima' at the door of an official Ministry building in Birmingham, occupied by a witness who had given evidence against him. Pre-planned revenge attack causing real risk and fear to the victims. Guilty plea, sentenced to six years plus one year consecutive for revenge."_

"Wow."

"Indeed."

"So he didn't kill Jugson, then."

"Have you always been this astute, or is it only for my benefit?"

Harry ignored him, something unpleasant building in the pit of his stomach. "How come Zabini didn't know Shunpike was in Azkaban?"

Draco shrugged. "Maybe he'd just grabbed the file and given it to us without really looking? I mean, Zabini and Bones questioned Shunpike in February last year, and since his next attack targeted a Ministry building, the Unspeakables were probably the ones dealing with it, so…"

"Hm." Something was bugging Harry but he decided not to dwell on it. "So, I guess it leaves us with Jugson's flat and the mysterious woman, then?"

"Absolutely."

"Right," Harry said, standing up. "Let's go and grab lunch on Diagon first, then. I'm starving."

* * *

They took a quick break in Diagon Alley, eating sandwiches on an Imperviused bench. The storm was over now, but the cobblestones were still shiny with rain.

Once they were done, they Apparated on the doorstep of Jugson's flat. Harry removed the numerous wards on the door -including a bunch of Muggle repellent ones- and Draco and he both pressed their wand on it. There was a click signalling the wards had recognised their magical signature and Harry pushed the door.

They entered the small hallway, the hardwood flooring creaking under their feet as they made their way farther inside the flat. Nothing much had changed since they'd been there on Friday. The curtains had been pulled, keeping the flat in the semi-darkness.

Harry flicked his wand and the curtains from the living-room on his right opened at once, bringing the pale sunlight of the after storm in.

"Where do you want to start?" asked Harry.

"I'll collect samples from the kitchen."

Harry nodded. "I'll take the bathroom."

"Good. Take absolutely every potion and draught you can find, so that I can work on them and compare them with what was found in the body."

"Right."

"Wait."

Draco grabbed Harry's robe and pulled him against his body. He pressed a kiss to Harry's lips before letting go of him.

"Now, go."

Harry smiled. "Okay."

* * *

They worked for an hour, the eerie silence only broken by occasional grunts of either satisfaction or frustration from both parts of the flat.

Harry went through the various products of the bathroom and collected every potion and draught he could put his hands on: from the most common ones such as Pepperup, Sleeping Draught or Wideye Potion to the most alien ones -at least, to him,- mysterious glass bottles without labels filled with unknown liquids.

Going through someone's medicine cabinet was pretty telling, Harry thought. A whole shelf above the washbasin was dedicated to creams, pomades and unguents of various sorts, but here again, pretty widespread products sat next to a small number of items Harry had never seen before -including a round, empty wooden pot that bore nothing but a picture of a plant on it- Devil's Snare was Harry's guess. Harry brought it up closer to his face. It smelled oddly familiar, with a hint of something Harry couldn't place. He put the lid back on and threw it in a bag with the rest of the creams, even if Draco had only mentioned potions and draughts.

When he was done with the bathroom, he inspected the other rooms -the loo and the living-room where he collected a few more specimens before joining Draco in the kitchen who was inspecting the bottom of the cooling cupboard.

"Are you okay in here?"

"Yep," Draco said, jumping to his feet. "Nearly done. You?"

"I did the bathroom, the loo and the living-room."

"Right. Let me finish here and I'll meet you in the bedroom."

"Is that a proposition?" Harry asked suggestively.

"Yuk, Potter. You're covered in all kinds of grimy things that are definitely not appealing right now."

"Too bad," Harry said, heading to the bedroom.

"I'll be right here."

The bedroom was nothing special. There was a double bed with a wooden frame against the wall on the left-side of the door, surrounded on either side by a couple of assorted nightstands. On the opposite wall, facing the bed, was a large wooden wardrobe that felt too big for the tiny room; probably the remnants of Jugson's inheritance.

Under the only window, opposite the door, was a small desk on which lay a bunch of trinkets, letters and paper clippings from _the Prophet_ that came from a dragon-hide covered album that Harry had been through the last time, and that had not revealed anything interesting at the time, when the possibility Jugson had topped himself had been the most probable one.

Harry first collected the couple of phials he found on the nightstand by the window before going through the letters on the desk, hoping to find anything related to the mysterious woman.

He found nothing worthy of interest - there were mainly administrative papers from the Ministry reminding Jugson of his appointments with the probation Auror in charge of his follow-up after Azkaban.

The clippings from the _Prophet_ were merely recent stories about other Death Eaters Jugson probably knew. The album contained much older articles dating back to the war.

It seemed that Jugson collected everything related to Voldemort's come back before the second wizarding war - several murders, including that of Bertha Jorkins, the Ministry official murdered by Voldemort for information on the Triwizard Tournament, Frank Bryce, the Muggle caretaker of the Riddle family mansion or Broderick Bode, the Unspeakable who'd been Imperiused before being murdered in St Mungo's.

Harry's eyes were attracted to a large black and white picture of a much younger-looking Jugson and a breathtakingly beautiful dark-skinned woman that looked vaguely familiar to Harry, although he couldn't place her. The Jugson from the picture seemed pretty taken with the woman, and kept tossing her glances as if he couldn't believe she was with him.

Harry used his wand to enlarge different parts of the picture but couldn't make out much of the background.

He looked closer still and jumped as he felt Draco's hands on his waist, dropping the picture to the floor.

"You're terribly easy to surprise for an Auror," Draco said in his ear, sliding his hands over Harry's belly and encircling him from behind.

Harry placed his hands on Draco's and leaned against him. "I thought I was disgusting."

"Well, you are," Draco replied. "I just can't wait to wash the grime off your skin under a hot shower," he added in a low tone, kissing Harry's neck. He rested his chin on Harry's shoulder. "What did you find?"

"Not much," Harry said, untangling reluctantly from Draco's grasp. "A few uninteresting letters, and this." He bent to retrieve the picture and showed it to Draco who took a close look at it. "Do you think this could be the mysterious woman?"

Draco shook his head. "It's not."

"Why not?"

"Because this is Ellora Zabini," he said, pointing at the woman next to Jugson.

"Blaise's mother?"

Draco nodded. "I had no idea she saw Jugson." He turned the photo over so as to look at the back of it. "Although that seems to be quite an old picture."

"What makes you think it couldn't be her?" Harry said, a slight discomfort forming in the pit of his stomach. Did she have anything to do with Jugson's death? After all, Blaise's mother was famous for having had a bunch of rich husbands that had all died mysteriously at one point…

Draco seemed to read his mind. "It's not her. She left Britain a couple of years ago to follow her new lover to Italy."

"But she could be back?"

"And what would she want from someone like Jugson, seriously? Blaise's mother is more interested in Galleons than in anything else, and Jugson had nothing to offer anymore."

"Right. It feels like we're missing something, though," Harry said, mostly to himself. "Even imagining Blaise's mum is indeed the mysterious woman, how come we can't find any other traces of her presence here? I mean, there must be something…" he trailed off, scanning the room once more, before going back to the door.

Draco observed him in silence, like he always did when he felt Harry was up to something.

Harry's eyes went from the bed, to the nightstand, to the wardrobe they'd already inspected several times without much success.

His eyes dropped on the desk again. There was something off there, something Harry couldn't really put his finger on… He narrowed his eyes, taking in the window, the way the desk was positioned in the room and…

"There," he said suddenly, heart beating faster. He took out his wand and cast a spell on the floor under the desk, clearing it instantly. "Look," he told Draco who crouched next to him. There were faint traces on the wood near the feet.

"It's been moved," Draco murmured.

Harry waved his wand. _"Wingardium Leviosa,"_ he said, and the desk took off. _"Stabilis,"_ he said again; the desk froze up in the air.

They went to work, in search of cracks or crevices in the floor.

"Here," Harry cried after a moment, as his fingers found a slightly larger crack in between two floorboards.

They started working on it, Harry's heart racing as they managed to remove the loose floorboard, revealing a rectangular hole the size of a small Kneazle. And inside it, a mahogany box.

"It's not dusty," Harry said. "It's been used recently."

"Open it," Draco said impatiently.

Harry concentrated on the magic surrounding the box and cast a combination of different spells. The box opened rather easily compared to what Harry was used to.

"There."

They were like little kids, Harry thought as he quickly cast protective spells on their hands, before emptying the contents of the box on the floor.

There was a roll of letters linked by a blue ribbon, as well as a few trinkets -a card from a restaurant on Diagon Alley, a cork, a signet ring and a gold chain.

"What's on the letters?" asked Draco.

Harry removed the ribbon, and started reading the first letter.

 _"_ _My dearest darling,"_ Harry started and Draco and he exchanged a look before Harry went on. _"I cannot tell you enough how much I have enjoyed our night together. The memory of your hands on me, your caresses, the way we—"_ Harry paused. "Er, maybe we should…"

"Continue," said Draco, visibly very amused.

 _"_ _The way we made love… It was a revelation. Never have I felt the way I am feeling right now, and it is all thanks to you, my love. I have never loved the way I love you, I have never felt the way I feel. I never thought I would ever find joy in life again, but you proved me wrong. I just cannot wait to see you again tomorrow. Yours, always. V.C"_

"Well, well," said Draco. "Some people are having fun."

"So here she is, the famous mysterious woman," Harry said, checking the other letters, all bearing the same handwriting and the same two letters as a signature. "And it's not Zabini's mum."

"Apparently not."

"Let's read the others."

They sat more comfortably, leaning against the side of the bed, and started going through the rest of the correspondence. Most of the letters were in the same tone as the first one, letters proclaiming an undying love for Jugson.

They managed to get the chronology thanks to the date on the letters. Like Jugson's neighbour had told them on Friday, the relationship seemed to have started in March.

"This is the last letter, look," Draco said, showing it to Harry.

 _"_ _Sunday, April, 30th,"_ read Harry. "Five days before Jugson's death."

Draco nodded. "And that's not all."

Harry started to read. _"He has suspicions. I do not know how, but he does. He asked me many questions yesterday night, enquiring about my whereabouts."_

"The husband."

"Most probably, yeah." Harry went on. _"We must stop seeing each other for a while. It is breaking my heart, but it is the wisest thing to do. Do not worry, I will do something about it. Until then, being without you will be torture. I hope things go smoothly, and in the meantime, please make a low profile and do not try to contact me. I will be fine. Yours forever, V.C."_

"Well, well, well," Draco said, absentmindedly fiddling with the trinkets on the floor. "How interesting. The cheating wife, the lover and the husband."

"It does shed a different light on Jugson's death."

Draco nodded. "The husband finds out about Jugson, and what? Poisons him?"

"Hm, possible," Harry said. "We need to identify the mysterious V.C and ask her and her husband a few questions."

"Yes," Draco said, picking up the signet ring and rolling it around in his fingers. He froze and his eyes widened as he took out his wand. _"Lumos,"_ he said, casting his wand light on the ring. "It can't—" He shook his head.

"What?" Harry said, alarmed at the tone in Draco's voice.

"It can't be," Draco whispered, examining the signet with even more attention.

Harry looked closer. It was of a deep green -Slytherin green, his brain provided- and on it was the letter C embossed in silver, each extremity representing the head of a snake flicking its tongue.

"You know it?"

"Of course, I do." Draco swallowed hard. "It's the Crabbe family's seal."

Harry's heart flipped in his chest. "So V.C stands for…"

"Vera Crabbe," said Draco, paler than ever. "Vince's mother."


	5. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

**~CHAPTER 5~**

 **Number twelve, Grimmauld Place**

* * *

"Vera Crabbe?" Harry repeated.

Draco nodded.

A long, uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Harry could hear the ticking of the clock in the living-room at the other end of the flat.

He struggled to find words, any words, but nothing came. He just couldn't fathom what it'd be like if he were in Draco's situation. If it was Mrs Weasley who'd-

"Don't," Draco said in a cutting tone.

"What?"

"Don't you dare imagine what it would be like if it were your blood-traitor friends who were involved."

"Don't call them that," Harry snapped. He was very familiar with Draco's strategy of attacking when something touched him. That didn't mean he had to like it. "They're no more blood-traitors than you are a Death Eater."

"Well, tell Robards and Smith that," Draco sneered. "And all of their little friends. No matter what I do, I'll always be a Death Eater to them. This thing…" He pulled up his sleeve, thus displaying his Dark Mark, "…is impossible to erase from my skin and from people's minds." Draco rolled down his sleeve again.

"It doesn't define you," Harry said pointedly. "It's just…" He waved his hand in the air, trying to find the right words. "A tiny part of you."

Draco seemed to soften at Harry's words. "I know," he said gently. "Anyway. Let's go." He stood, brushing the dust from his Auror robe with his hand. "We still have a lot to do, so let's head back to the Ministry."

Harry stood as well and rested a soothing hand on Draco's forearm. "Are you sure? About… the whole thing?"

Draco frowned. "Meaning?"

"This could potentially get very nasty, and touch people you know and love in more ways than you realise."

Draco rolled his eyes. "As if I didn't know. I am not a child, Potter. I can take care of myself."

"Of course, but—"

"Honestly?" Draco lifted his arms in a theatrical manner. "The wizarding world is so small that every single Auror gets to know at least one person related to each case they work on."

"I know. I just…" Harry shrugged.

"Well, don't." Draco frowned. "I'm a professional Auror, and I have been trained to face every situation. I know what I'm doing, and I want to solve this case. No matter what."

Harry locked his eyes in Draco's and tried to read his mind, to no avail. He sighed. "Okay. Let's go back then. It will take ages to organise all the samples and write the report."

"It will," Draco said, his features softening. A glint of mischief passed through his eyes and he fumbled to take Harry's hand in his. He removed a strand of hair from Harry's face. "And then, I'd very much like to see that empty house of yours, so that I can settle my lab as quickly as possible."

* * *

They worked the rest of the afternoon on the samples they'd collected at Jugson's flat and on the report.

Meaning, in reality, that Harry _tried_ to write the report while Draco moved about the room, going from one point to another, lying on the couch and then jumping off abruptly and flailing his arms, his very own way of processing information. He also talked a lot, congratulating himself on how clever he was.

Harry was glad, in a way, to see Draco in his usual mood. He'd not been sure how to deal with the latest developments of their investigation and had no idea what awaited them. For now, all they had was that Vera Crabbe had been Jugson's lover, and that they'd have to question her and her husband first thing tomorrow morning, which promised to be interesting, to say the least.

Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses and stifled a yawn.

"Right," Draco said loudly as he jumped on Harry's desk. He tapped his fingers impatiently. "Are you done, yet?" He grabbed Harry's report and narrowed his eyes. "How on earth is anyone supposed to understand anything to whatever it is you wrote here?"

"You're holding it upside down," Harry deadpanned.

"Oh." Draco flicked his wand to Summon his glasses that went flying to his hand. He put them on, and Harry's mouth dried at the sight. He'd always had a thing for Draco in glasses, from the very first day he'd discovered about them. "I was surprised that what I read almost sounded coherent."

"God, you're just—"

"I know," Draco said, his tone serious. He pressed a kiss to Harry's mouth and pulled back, beaming, his mind apparently already on something else. "Of course, not everybody can be as eloquent as I am when I write reports."

"Really?" Harry's eyes dropped on the framed stick figure on the wall. "Kingsley didn't seem very impressed the last time you did."

"Of course, he didn't. He couldn't let anyone know what his true feelings for me really are. He's a professional, and our greatly admired, inspirational leader. Although I must admit he manages very well to hide his unyielding attraction to me." Draco beamed. "From the outside, you'd never guess that he's got such a crush on me. But hey, who could blame him?" He chuckled, and Harry couldn't help laughing along.

"Anyway." Draco pressed his foot to Harry's thigh, and Harry absentmindedly let his fingers gently stroke Draco's ankle, right above the top of his sock, and up Draco's calf, where he found soft skin and sparse wiry hairs. Draco leaned forward and said in a conspiring tone. "I am thinking of offering Shacklebolt another one of my drawings for his birthday. But don't tell anyone, it's a surprise."

"You— what?"

Draco jumped from the desk and started pacing the room. "Or…" He smiled and lifted a finger in the air. "One of my paintings."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You don't paint."

Draco brought a hand to his chest in a dramatic gesture. "Of course, I do."

"Really?"

"Absolutely!" Draco said, looking affronted.

"And when did you start?"

"Tomorrow."

Harry smiled, leaning back in his chair, resting his hands on his belly. "That's what I thought. But please do continue."

"Right, so I might offer him one of my paintings, _or._ " Draco insisted on the last word and let it hang in the air.

"Or?"

"Or." Draco smiled. "Even better: an actual size picture of me. Although…" He put a finger on his chin and stared at the ceiling. "I'd still have to determine my best angle —whether I start by showing my left side, then my right one, or the other way round. It will be a hard decision to make, since I'm so gorgeous—"

"That was a wonderful impression of Gilderoy Lockhart."

Draco's face twisted in an odd grimace, displaying unashamed disgust mixed with horror. "How dare you compare me with him? His hair was atrocious."

Harry ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "Was it?"

"Terrible. And the wrong shade of blond. Obviously."

Harry grinned. "Obviously." He leaned forward, but just as he was about to take Draco's hand, the door burst open and Blaise appeared.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Blaise said as he stepped into the office.

"Zabini," Draco said in an irritated tone. "Can't you see we're working here? You can't barge in while we are discussing the details of an investigation of the utmost importance."

"I thought I just had," Blaise retorted before throwing himself in Draco's swivel chair, and resting his feet on Draco's desk. "So," he asked. "Anything new in the Jugson case?"

"No," Draco said.

"Yes," Harry said at the same time.

Blaise rose an eyebrow. "Which one is it?"

Harry's eyes found Draco's. "I mean we don't… have anything really new," Harry mumbled. "We… have a couple of leads."

"What about Shunpike?" Blaise asked. "Did you get him yet?"

Harry and Draco exchanged another knowing look.

Draco took his glasses off and folded them. "No."

"No?" Blaise frowned. "Why not?"

"Because he's in Azkaban, you twat," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Thanks ever so for the shitty lead."

Blaise removed his feet from Draco's desk and sat back in his chair. "You're joking."

Draco shook his head.

"Oh." Blaise shrugged. "Well. I didn't know that. Anyway." He stood at once. "That's not why I'm here. Draco?" he said, casting an intent look at Draco who seemed puzzled for a second before nodding to him.

"What?" Harry asked, looking at them in turns, something prickling his skin at the silent, exclusive conversation between them.

"I have to go, Potter," Draco said importantly, his eyes still on Blaise before he turned to Harry. "I know you will be utterly bereft at my absence, but try not to kill yourself out of despair while I'm gone."

"Wait. What?" Harry felt disappointment rush through him. He'd half hoped they could go home once he'd be done with the report. "Why do you have to go?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, an air of mystery on his face. "Top Secret mission, of course. Or have you already forgotten?"

"Top— Oh."

For as long as they'd been partners, Draco had gone on these 'Top Secret missions.' At first, Harry had thought it was a convenient way for Draco to avoid the most unpleasant tasks that were part of the Auror work —like writing reports— and it used to anger him to no end.

Over the months, though, Harry had noticed that there was a regularity to Draco's mysterious little errands. They happened once a month, and lasted no more than an hour. He had tried to ask Draco about them, of course, but Draco had always eluded the question, going for the most grotesque and improbable explanations every single time; once Draco had told Harry he'd been asked to rescue a hundred and one dalmatians from an evil witch —and Harry still didn't know how Draco had ever heard of this Muggle story. Another time, Draco had told him he'd been sent to stop a bunch of giant rats from destroying an entire top-secret field in Wiltshire and that the Muggle Queen _herself_ had requested his presence and nobody else's. The last time Harry had asked, Draco had confided in a low tone that it was all a conspiracy from the bad guys in the Auror Office who forced every Death Eater and known former sympathisers who'd made it in the Auror corps to register and take humiliating tests to 'check' they were still fit for service.

After a while, Harry had stopped asking questions, thinking that Draco would tell him about the real reason when he was ready to do so.

"You can't possibly go now?" He tried again.

Draco sighed in an exaggerated manner. "Believe me, Potter. I'd love nothing more than to go home right now. However," he added, patting Harry's shoulder in a patronising way, "I am a conscientious Auror and when duty calls, I have no other option than to go."

"But—"

He leaned forward. "I'll make it up to you later," he murmured in Harry's ear before pulling back and winking at him.

"I—"

"Later," Draco said again. "Now, Zabini, off we go."

* * *

Harry had just put the last touch to his report and sent it to Smith when Draco came back an hour later. He had a rather serious expression on his face that told Harry every single time that whatever he did during his 'Top-secret missions,' it was no pleasure cruise.

As always with Draco, though, it didn't last long, and the kiss he gave Harry, soft and gentle as he ran his fingers in Harry's hair, largely made up for his absence.

"Right, shall we go to this 'perfect place' you claimed to have for me, then?" Draco said, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and rocking the two of them gently together.

"You sure you don't have any more Top Secret missions to go to?"

Draco leaned forward and whispered in Harry's ear. "Only if said Top Secret mission involves getting into your pants."

Harry smiled. "Is that so?"

Draco nodded.

Harry raised an eyebrow in defiance. "Why, you really think I'm so easy, Malfoy?"

"You know you are," Draco bragged. "But only for me," he added quickly.

"Of course, I have eyes only for you."

Draco chuckled. "How could you not?"

"All right. Let's go."

* * *

"As unbelievable as it might sound to your plebeian ears, Potter, this is _not_ my idea of a perfect place," Draco said as they entered the dark hallway of 12, Grimmauld Place. "What on earth is this… ?" He waved his hand, apparently at a loss for words.

"I'm sure you've been here before." Harry closed the door behind them and waved his wand. The old-fashioned gas lamps sprang into life, casting flickering light in the hallway.

Draco took a prudent step forward. "I certainly have not."

Harry watched him take in the eerie hallway, with its threadbare carpet and dark, old-fashioned ripped wallpaper. He didn't pay attention to it anymore, but it was easy to remember the impression the old, decaying house had made on him when he'd first stepped into it, years ago.

Draco's eyes stopped on the long, dark curtains concealing the portrait of Sirius's mother.

"This!" he yelled, and the sound of his voice had the curtains fly open. A horrible, earsplitting screech escaped from underneath them.

 _"_ _Filth, stains of dishonour, taint of shame in the house of my fathers!"_ Walburga Black's shrieks echoed in the empty hallway.

"Don't pay attention to her," Harry said in a bored tone as he directed his wand at the portrait. "She's—"

"Great-Auntie Wallie!" Draco said, walking past him before Harry could do or say anything else, a fondness in his voice that Draco usually reserved for the old ladies he met.

 _"_ _Draco? Is that you, my darling?"_ Mrs Black said in a sugary voice Harry had never ever heard in her dead mouth before.

 _"_ _Darling?"_ he mouthed, incredulous.

Draco swelled out his chest, and Harry's eyes widened. "The one and only, Great-Auntie Wallie."

 _"_ _Great-Auntie Wallie?"_ Harry said again, feeling stupid. Draco ignored him completely.

 _"_ _Draco, you have always been my favourite,"_ said Mrs Black in an affectionate tone.

Harry walked behind Draco and placed a hand in the small of his back. "Shall we move on?" he whispered in Draco's ear.

"Not now, Potter," Draco snapped. "Can't you see I'm trying to have a conversation, here?" He turned back to the portrait. "I know, Great-Auntie Wallie," Draco said softly. "Forgive him, he's only a half-blood, his manners are not very refined yet, but I'm working on it, I promise."

"Right," Harry said louder. "I'll just…" He gestured to the stairs. "I'll just go and grab a couple of Butterbeers downstairs."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Draco said, waving his hand.

Harry shook his head as he made his way down the hall, but Draco didn't pay attention to him, as taken as he was with Mrs Black. When Harry reached the top of the stairs leading to the basement kitchen, he turned his head and saw Draco Transfigure his scarf into a chair. Draco settled right in front of the portrait, crossing a leg over the other and resumed his strange conversation with Mrs Black. It felt surreal, really, to see him chatting up Mrs Black like he did with all the old ladies they met, flailing his arms, a massive smile on his face, looking completely in his element in the derelict house of his ancestors.

* * *

Draco was still deep in conversation with Mrs Black when Harry came back with the Butterbeers. He paused at the top of the staircase and took a good look at Draco, taking advantage of the fact that the shadows hid him from Draco's sight. Draco was still sitting on his Transfigured chair but had rolled up his sleeves, thus displaying his Dark Mark, something that must have pleased Mrs Black to no end. Mrs Black's shrieks had diminished in intensity, and —as unbelievable to Harry's ears as it seemed— were now mixed with cooing sounds that would have put Lavender Brown to shame.

"Yes, Great Auntie Wallie," Draco said, his serious tone contrasting with the lightness from the beginning. "I am indeed dating him."

Mrs Black shrieked something that Harry couldn't get despite its strength, but he managed to catch the words _'pure-blood witch,' 'wedding,'_ and _'heir'_ amongst the otherwise nonsensical yells. A thrilled coursed through his spine at the probable meaning of these words.

Draco raised a soothing hand. "I am working on it, Great-Auntie Wallie, do not be afraid."

Harry frowned. What on earth was that supposed to mean?

 _"_ _The house of your ancestors!"_ Mrs Black started again thankfully not as loud as previously. _"Only a true Black shall have it, not by-products of filth and vileness raised by—"_

Draco raised his hand again and to Harry's surprise, Mrs Black immediately stopped.

"I am living in the moment," he said in a dramatic tone. "And yes, you are quite right." Draco grimaced. "Raised by Muggles and all, but…" He seemed to hesitate. "I like him. I really do." He suddenly sat up and pointed a finger at her. "But if you tell him I said that, I'll deny it, of course."

Mrs Black answered something that Harry didn't get, in a curiously smooth tone. Harry decided it was time to show himself. He really should stop spying on Draco like he seemed to do quite a lot lately.

"I know. What can I say?" Draco sighed. "I've always been altruistic, sacrificing myself for the sake of—"

Harry walked along the corridor, and Draco lifted his head, a smile forming on his face. "Speaking of the devil," he said.

Mrs Black immediately started screaming insults at Harry again, but this time, Harry managed to shut the curtains and silence her before Draco could stop him.

He turned to Draco in the now oddly silent hallway. "Had fun with the old hag?"

"Don't call her that. She's one of my ancestors, and just like every one else in the family, she is a wonderfully charming person," Draco said with a self-satisfied grin. "Anyway." He stood and Transfigured his scarf back. "Show me to my lab."

"Over here," Harry said, pushing the door to his right, leading Draco into the formal dining-room.

It wasn't a room Harry had visited often. It was just above the kitchen, and had the same shape, but it looked slightly less cavernous thanks to the large French windows overlooking Grimmauld Place. A long and ornate table occupied most of the room. At its very end, stood a massive fireplace that must have been elegant decades ago.

Draco made his way through the room, unusually quiet. He let his fingers run on the surface of the table, scanning the room, taking in every detail. His eyes narrowed as he reached the once handsome dresser at the end of the room and he slid his index finger on one of the shelves, before rubbing it with his thumb.

"Hm," he simply said.

"What do you mean, _hm_?" Harry asked, still holding the two Butterbeers in his hands. "Do you like it?"

"Interesting," Draco said, mostly talking to himself. "This house is falling apart, and yet… there is no trace of dust at all."

"Oh."

Draco turned to face him. "So you do have a whole bunch of sad house-elves after all."

Harry shook his head. "Nope. Just the one."

"Really?"

Harry nodded. "Kreacher. He came with the house."

Draco raised an eyebrow. " _You_ have a house-elf?"

"Yes."

"And where is it?"

"He's…" Harry shrugged. "Not here."

"I can see that." Draco took a step forward. "Care to be more specific, maybe?"

"He's at Hogwarts."

Draco frowned. "What on earth is your house-elf doing at Hogwarts?"

"It's— It's complicated. I didn't want him to stay here on his own, because the last time it happened, it almost drove him mad. So we…" Harry shuffled his feet. "Compromised."

Draco folded his arms across his chest. "You compromised with a house-elf?"

"Well, I mean, I heard what he had to say and—"

"Granger's influence, I gather," Draco cut in. "Continue."

"And we decided that it would be best for him to stay at Hogwarts with his other house-elf friends."

Draco nodded slowly, his eyes narrowed as if he were trying to figure out something. "I see."

"But," Harry added. "Kreacher insisted on spending at least a couple of days a week in the house to… keep it clean." Harry had a small smile. "Just in case."

Draco came closer and stroked Harry's cheek gently. "You'll never cease to surprise me," he said in a low, subdued voice.

"Part of my charm." Harry wrinkled his nose. "Anyway, what do you think about it, then?" he said, showing the room. "For your lab?"

Draco pulled back and took a good look at the room again. "I suppose it would do. If Snape managed to make potions in a damp Dungeon for years, I guess this could work."

"Good."

"But I'd like to see the rest of the house first."

"Okay."

They left the room and Harry led Draco along the dark hallway. He flicked his wand to light the old gas lamps in the stairs, but Draco stopped dead on the first step. His eyes widened at the sight of the row of shrunken heads of the house-elves mounted on plaques on the wall.

Draco flicked his wand. _"Lumos."_ He studied each one of the heads closely, his wand casting light over the sad, pathetic faces. He stopped by the elf with the snout-like nose and flailed his arms so hard that Harry was afraid he'd tumble down the stairs. "Misty!" Draco said, pointing to the elf. "Dear old Misty! It's so wonderful to see you again!"

"Er," said Harry, for lack of a smartest thing to say. "You… you knew her?"

Draco glared at him. "Misty was a male, you ignorant sod. Can't you tell?"

"Honestly?"

Draco sighed dramatically and a fond smile appeared on his face again. "It reminds me of Aunt Bella and Uncle Roddy's mansion. They had the project to do the same with the heads of the Muggles she and Uncle Roddy—"

"Ugh. I don't want to know," Harry said, a shiver running down his spine. "For Merlin's sake, Draco, these people were—"

"I know what they were," Draco said dryly. "I don't need you to remind me."

"Right." Harry decided it was best to avoid the subject for now. "Go ahead, then."

They climbed the rest of the stairs in silence, and Draco put his hand on the doorknob to his right before Harry could say anything.

"Not this one," Harry said quickly, but it was too late.

Draco was already pushing the door open. He froze on the doorstep, his mouth dropping open and his eyes widening. "What on earth is this place?"

Harry felt his cheeks burn. He discarded the Butterbeers on the floor by the door, a not-so-subtle way to hide his embarrassment. "It's—"

But Draco was already strolling in, his eyes roaming over the overcrowded shelves facing the large double bed.

It was a child's bedroom, there was no other way to put it. This room —Harry's room— was filled with Muggle toys and games that still looked in a rather good shape despite the slight discolouration due to the sunlight coming in from the only window.

"What is all this?" Draco murmured as he walked along the shelves at a slow pace, taking in the stacks of board games and various toys that covered them. "Is it—?" Draco took the coloured box of Connect Four and studied it carefully, looking… disconcerted. He looked at Harry. "Are these all yours?"

"Yes." Harry felt his hands go clammy and he stuffed them in his pockets. He felt very small all of a sudden. Not that Draco was making fun of him, not at all. He was surprisingly low-key for once, looking more like he was trying to figure something complex out.

Harry had never shown this room to anyone. Not even Ron and Hermione knew of what it contained. He had decided to use it after his crazy year chasing criminals, turning down Mrs Weasley's proposition to stay at the Burrow for as long as he wished to. At the time, Ginny had suggested they took a flat together, but Harry had felt he could no longer postpone thinking about what he would do with his life and had needed to spend time on his own, to gather his thoughts after the whirlwind that had been his life until then, and think of the future. Ginny had understood and Harry had been immensely grateful to her for that.

He hadn't wanted to invest too much time in the renovation of the house, since he didn't intend to live in it at all, but he'd chosen this relatively small room to put what little things he had.

After that, he'd found himself with nothing much to do for almost two months, after almost a decade of being constantly busy —defeating Voldemort and then chasing Death Eaters on the run. The lack of action and the claustrophobic feel of the creepy house had soon prompted him to go out. He'd started taking long walks out in the Muggle world and realised he loved walking; it cleared his head and relaxed his body. Besides, he loved watching people go on with their every day errands, and imagine how he could have been one of them in another life; it also was a nice reminder that there was a world beyond the wizarding one.

What he appreciated the most about London, was that he could find different places according to his mood.

If he wanted calm, then he would head to the nearby Highgate Cemetery. The beauty of the place —and in particular the most ancient part, the northwestern wooded area— was breathtaking. The sinuous paths winding up a steep wooded hill with scattered ivy-clad monuments was the ideal landscape for anyone looking for peace and quiet.

Harry particularly liked the wizarding part of the cemetery, situated at the very end of the west cemetery. It was a small enclave, protected by numerous charms and spells making it impossible for Muggles to see it. The people buried here were mainly Ministry employees, including Unspeakables and Aurors who'd died on the field. Harry liked the quietness of the place, the incredible variety of wildlife and the fact that the rare wizards he encountered didn't pay him any attention. It was as if the place was sacred, and it was, in a way.

So on turbulent days, Highgate Cemetary was Harry's place of choice.

On other days, though, when Harry needed to feel the life around him, he would head to the more animated areas of the capital, and more particularly the very heart of London.

It was during one of these long walks that he had stumbled on Hamley's toy shop. The colourful, animated large windows had drawn him in, and as soon as he'd pushed the heavy glass doors, his senses had been assaulted by the crowd, the deafening noise, the bright colours, and the impressive amount of games and toys everywhere; it had made him dizzy. There were things flying above his head, people performing 'magic' tricks to gullible Muggles in a corner, and Harry's eyes had widened in awe; Dudley had always been spoiled as a child, but what he'd had had been nothing compared to what Harry had in front of his eyes.

Most of the games on display were unknown to him, but a few of them were familiar, like that Twister game Dudley had played with his friends one afternoon before it'd ended up in the bin. Harry had closed his eyes in the middle of the shop and he could hear again the laughter and how much he had craved at the time to be a part of it, to be able to play with them, no matter how horrible Dudley's friends had always been to him.

When he'd opened his eyes again, he had grabbed a box of Twister and headed to the till.

Back to Grimmauld Place, he'd run upstairs to his little room and had played with it for hours. He didn't care if he looked pathetic, an adult playing a kid's game on his own. He just— He'd needed it, back then.

He went back to Hamley's every day for weeks after that, and rapidly accumulated an impressive number of toys and games. He'd brought shelves from other bedrooms when the floor didn't have a free inch of space anymore.

"What on earth are these?" Draco's voice took Harry back to the present.

Harry cleared his throat. "Rollerblades."

"What are they for?"

"They're—" Harry smiled. "You put them on your feet, like shoes, and then you roll with them."

"How utterly undignified." The look of horror on Draco's face was priceless. "Why would anyone do that?"

"For fun?" Harry said. Although to be completely honest, it had been no fun at all trying just to stand with the damned things on his feet, not to mention painful and humiliating when he'd found himself on his bum.

Harry Potter, Vanquisher of the Darkest Wizard of All Times, defeated by a pair of Rollerblades.

"This is…" Draco said again, scanning the room, apparently at a loss for words, which didn't happen often. He turned back to Harry, looking confused. "Why would you… I mean. Why all that?"

"I—" Harry shrugged. "I was bored."

Draco narrowed his eyes, scrutinising him. "You do know you are a terrible liar," he said in a low voice.

"I'm not." Harry shook his head. "I really was bored."

Draco shook his head. "That's not all. Not everybody who's bored goes out on a shopping spree to buy toys. No." He took a step forward, his gaze still intense. "There's more."

Harry diverted his eyes, Draco's searching look making him uncomfortable. He took a box on the nearest shelf and handed it to Draco. "Let's play this. I'm going to kick your arse."

Draco snorted. "That was a very pathetic attempt at changing the subject. I don't want to play, Potter."

Harry smirked. "Scared, Malfoy?"

"That cousin of yours," Draco cut in, not rising to the bait.

Harry's heart flipped in his chest. He had shared some parts of his childhood with Draco a couple of weeks back when they'd rehearsed being a 'couple' for the Gentlewizard Club, so Draco already knew about the Dursleys and the way they'd been with him. That didn't mean Harry was ready to spill the beans on everything that had happened back then.

"He was coddled," Draco went on. Harry saw the pieces fall into place in Draco's mind and a cold dread coursed through his veins. "He had everything he wanted, and you…" Draco moved closer still.

Harry's fingers tightened in a fist at his side. "It doesn't matter now."

"Allow me to disagree," Draco said softly. "I shall say it does matter quite a lot. At least, it does to me." He removed a strand of hair from Harry's forehead, and tilted his head. "So there was this… cousin of yours, same age, living in the same house, spending whole afternoons with his friends playing those games while you…" he trailed off, running the back of his hand on Harry's cheek, the tone of his voice and the tender gesture sending a thrill down Harry's spine. "You were confined in that cupboard of yours with nothing at all."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Draco was quicker. He put a finger on Harry's lips. "You had nothing. So these…" His eyes fell on the coloured boxes again. "These—"

"I bought them." Harry said, holding Draco's gaze with a hint of defiance. "And I know how it looks." His whole body was tense now.

Draco looked at him long and hard, studying his face with great care. The expression on his face changed abruptly and a small smile tugged the corners of his mouth. He shook his head. "You have no idea."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"How much you…"

"How much I what?" Harry said dryly.

The cutting tone seemed to take Draco out of his trance-like state and in one swift movement, he shoved Harry against the wall by the window and cupped his face. He then kissed him hard and long, but the kiss wasn't meant to be arousing, not one bit. It was more of an I-can't-believe-you-actually-exist kind of kiss, and the force of it hit Harry like a tidal wave, as relief flooded through his veins.

"You're—" Draco said before he kissed him again. "God, you're…"

Harry's toes curled at the tone in Draco's voice, the odd reverence in it, as if Harry was something special, something Draco had never seen before. Which was ridiculous of course, because Draco knew him, he had been in his life for so long that—

Harry whimpered when Draco planted a trail of kisses on his face, along his jawline, and then down his throat, as if hungry for him.

Draco then enveloped him in his arms, and Harry closed his eyes, his cheek resting against the patch of skin right under Draco's throat. He let out a low sigh as Draco held him tight, pressing kisses on the top of his head.

"You really don't know, do you?" Draco murmured against his hair. "How incredibly— How _pure_ you are."

"Pure?"

"You're just—" Draco huffed. "Beautiful," he said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Inside and out. And I just— I can't believe I have you."

Harry wrapped his arms tighter around Draco's waist, words failing him. He let out a long breath, lulled by Draco's heartbeat.


	6. Close to Home

**~CHAPTER 6~**

 **Close to home**

* * *

The sky was low and oppressive as they Apparated at the gates of Crabbe manor the next morning. The house had the same pretentious look as Malfoy manor but in a slightly different way, as if it somehow tried to rival with the grandeur and elegance of the Malfoy mansion without exactly managing to.

A shiver ran through Harry's spine and he buttoned his cloak up, willing to keep the crisp air of this very cool day from chilling him further. It wasn't just the cold, though; it was the whole atmosphere of the place, the isolation of the house, the quietness of it, as well as the thick layer of fog that gave the place an eerie look.

Harry jammed his hands into his pockets and turned to Draco. "You ready?"

Draco didn't look at him; he just nodded, his eyes fixed on the manor at the other end of the garden.

He had been in a quiet mood since he'd woken that morning, silent and sullen despite Harry's attempts to cheer him up. They hadn't talked about it, even though Harry had yearned to know what it'd feel like for Draco to come back to a house he'd probably visited a lot when he was younger. Harry didn't know if Draco had kept in touch with the Crabbes at all after the death of their only son; all he knew was that the two families had distanced themselves from each other over the past years. It didn't lessen the fact that having people Draco had known all his life as suspects in an investigation could prove at least a little bit upsetting.

They were close to the gates when a powerful stream of ancient magic engulfed them. Harry took a step back. "Wow," he said lowly, running his wand over the gates. "Looks like the Crabbes don't mess up with their wards."

"Of course they don't," Draco replied in a clipped tone. He took a step forward, and held his hand up, feeling the wards. "You'll have to turn around," he said through clenched teeth, his eyes still fixed on the gate.

Harry frowned. "Why?"

"Because," Draco said slowly, his whole body visibly tense. "Even though you are the wards specialist, I am the only one capable to open those gates."

"I don't—"

Draco huffed impatiently, still not looking at him.

"Oh." Harry blanched as the pieces finally fell together. "All right."

He turned and immediately heard a rustle of clothes. He was dying to look at whatever Draco was doing with the wards, but knew better not to. There was another flow of intense magic, an odd mixture of ancient and more recent kind that sent a thrill akin to an electric current through his toes and all the way up his body to his hair.

And then there was a click in the gates.

"I'm done."

Harry turned around; Draco was buttoning the cuff of his left sleeve back. "Good," Harry said. "Let's go."

They walked in silence through the empty garden. It must have been magnificent at one point, but it had lost its former majesty. It looked completely abandoned, as if no one had worked on it for years. Harry peered at Draco and realised that he too, could see it; the way his eyes swept the desolate landscape, the tightness in his jaw… The Crabbes and the Malfoys had always been very close, and Draco had probably spent hours playing on those grounds with Crabbe and Goyle. It must be really hard for him to see what now remained of this part of his childhood.

The house looked even more pitiful from up close. From afar, Harry had not been able to make out the peeling paint, the lack of regular maintenance of the place, the weeds overtaking the once elegant terrace.

Draco took a deep breath and raised the knocker; it echoed with a loud bang on the other side of the door as he released it.

Harry had half-expected a house-elf to open the door, but instead it was a small, frail woman, dressed in elegant albeit slightly old-fashioned pale-blue robes with white lace cuffs. Her long, wavy hair ran on her narrow shoulders; she must have been beautiful once.

There was something terribly sad about her face, as if grief and pain had left their print all over her delicate features. She was extremely pale, an impression reinforced by her red-rimmed eyes and the bags under her eyes. The overall tiredness of her face made her look somewhat older than Harry knew she really was. It struck him how tiny and fragile she looked compared to her beefy, confident late son.

"Draco?" she said in a feeble voice. She frowned when she noticed Harry, their scarlet robes a dead giveaway on the reason of their visit. Her expression shut down at once. "Why are you here?"

"Vera." Draco took her hand in his and bowed his head a little.

"We have a few questions," Harry stepped in. "Madam."

"Questions?" There was a trembling in her voice.

"Yes." Harry cleared his throat. "Is your husband here?"

Mrs Crabbe blinked. "No. He's… not. He— He's not here."

"Oh." Harry had thought that by coming that early in the morning, they could get their hands on both the husband and the wife. They'd agreed beforehand on Harry dealing with Vincent Crabbe Senior, while Draco would interrogate Mrs Crabbe.

Change of plan, then.

"All right." He looked at Draco who nodded at him. Harry turned back to Mrs Crabbe: she would have to do. "Can we come in?"

"I don't…" She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder.

"Vera," Draco said again in a soothing voice. "Shall we?"

"I want to know why you are—"

"It's about Andrew Jugson," Harry blurted, the numbness in his cold limbs prompting him to get straight to the point.

Mrs Crabbe blanched significantly at the name and swiftly removed her hand from Draco's. Her eyes widened a fraction of a second before she regained composure. She shook her head. "I've never heard of him."

"Would you mind if we…" Harry gestured, desperate to leave the cold behind.

"It won't be long, I promise," Draco added.

She sighed and moved aside to let them in.

The door opened on a grand foyer and a majestic wooden staircase. Mrs Crabbe led them quickly across the room and into a cosy parlour in pale blue and yellow, flowery tones. It wasn't very furnished, but Harry noticed a small mahogany writing desk on the left side of the large, French windows that were adorned with heavy pale blue curtains. A book lay on the wingback chair on the other side of the window. A definitely feminine room, decorated with taste.

Harry nearly bumped into Draco as he stopped dead in the middle of the room, his whole body focused on something in front of him.

"Draco?" Harry said, confused as to why Draco had paused.

Draco took a few more steps, transfixed as he stared at a picture on the mantelpiece.

It was a photograph showing Vincent Crabbe in his Hogwarts robes. It must have been taken a few months before his death, as he was in the picture exactly as Harry remembered him: looking full of himself and dim as ever.

Draco reached for the frame; he stopped himself before he'd touched it and Mrs Crabbe silently stood by his side.

"I—" Draco started, his eyes roaming the picture as his fingers finally touched the silver frame. "There is not one day when I don't think about him," he said softly.

Mrs Crabbe pinched her lips. "I know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I am so sorry," Draco said again, still not looking at her.

Mrs Crabbe rested a hand on his arm. "I know."

Harry felt out of place there, an intruder of sorts on this intimate scene. He cleared his throat and Draco and Mrs Crabbe turned around, promptly reminded of his presence.

"Please do take a seat," Mrs Crabbe finally said.

Draco and Harry sat on one of the two settees in front of the fireplace as Mrs Crabbe settled in the one opposite them. She took out a laced handkerchief and pressed it briefly against her eyes before resting her hands in her lap.

"Why are you here?" she enquired softly.

Harry took out his Quick-quote Quill and a piece of parchment, as was the procedure. "We need to know the exact nature of your relationship with Mr Andrew Jugson."

"Like I said," she replied, twisting her handkerchief nervously. "I have never heard of him."

Harry took a deep breath. "Mrs Crabbe… We…" He looked at Draco and saw him stiffen significantly. Harry sighed, turning his attention back to Mrs Crabbe. "We've found the letters. We know that you were… close to Mr. Jugson, especially over the past weeks."

Mrs Crabbe paled at his words and cast a nervous glance at the fireplace. The ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed incredibly loud all of a sudden.

"I…" She blew out a breath and looked determinedly into Harry's eyes. "We are… friends."

"Close friends."

She looked pleadingly at Draco who nodded to her.

"Yes," she let out in a breath. "We are. Very… close." Again, she peered at the fireplace before turning back to Harry, this time avoiding Draco's eyes.

Harry felt him tense again, so he slightly moved his leg against Draco's so that they would touch a little, hoping to bring him a tiny bit of comfort.

"Mrs Crabbe." Harry leaned forward a little. "We have bad news, I'm afraid."

Her eyes widened and she pressed her handkerchief over her mouth with trembling fingers. "What— What is it?"

"I'm sorry," Harry said, "but Mr Jugson was found dead last Friday."

A sob escaped her mouth and she dropped her handkerchief onto her lap. "No! It's not… It can't—"

That seemed to take Draco out of his odd, quiet state and he took her hand in his. "I'm sorry, Vera, I am so, so…" But the words died in Draco's throat.

A horrible thought came to Harry's mind: could the scene happening in front of him somewhat be a re-enactment of what had happened when Vincent had died? Harry didn't know if Draco had been the one to tell the Crabbes about the horrible death of their son, and yet... He really started to believe that keeping Draco on a case hitting so close to home had not been such a good idea.

"Would you like to take a moment?" Harry asked, willing to give both Mrs Crabbe and Draco a moment to recover.

"Yes," she replied, tremors in her voice. "Thank you."

Draco and Harry left the room and found themselves in the grand foyer again. As soon as the door closed behind them, Harry was on Draco.

"You okay?" he asked, rubbing his hand on Draco's arm.

Draco nodded. "Yes."

"There's still time for us to give this case to another team of Aurors, you know?"

"I told you," Draco growled. "I want to solve this case. No matter what."

Harry searched Draco's face, but it was, as often, unreadable. "If you're sure..."

"I am," Draco said dryly.

Harry decided to drop the subject for now. "All right, then."

He went through the notes they had so far, which wasn't much, and Draco started pacing the room, his hand raking his hair restlessly. Mrs Crabbe had looked truly affected when they'd told her about Jugson's death, even if Harry wasn't naïve enough to think people could not fake despair or sadness. But something told him deep inside that she had been sincerely surprised and bereft at the news of her lover's death.

When she returned a few minutes later, her face was perfectly composed again; it would've been hard to tell she had cried only a few moments ago.

"Would you," Mrs Crabbe started, her voice quivering as they resumed their spots on the settees. "Would you tell me what has happened?"

"Of course." Harry had learned during his training —and it was confirmed to him on later cases— that in very emotional moments, the best thing to do was to stick to the facts. "Mr Jugson was found at the bottom of a cliff in Cornwall."

"At the… bottom of a cliff?" Mrs Crabbe looked surprised.

"Yes," Draco said. "The scene looked like a suicide, but we have every reason to think he didn't kill himself."

"What makes you believe that?"

"We…" Draco went on. "We found traces of a powerful hallucinogen in his body. We think he might have been poisoned."

"Poisoned?" She paled further. "But who would—"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Harry said. "Were you aware of people who would have had reasons to hurt him?"

She let out a low chuckle that sounded rather uncalled-for under the circumstances. "He was a Death Eater, Mr. Potter. Of course he had enemies."

"Would you…" Draco said. "Would he talk to you about them?"

She stared fixedly into Draco's eyes. "No, Draco. Our encounters did not involve talking about other people much."

 _They probably didn't involve talking much about anything at all,_ Harry bet, but kept his thoughts to himself.

"Mrs Crabbe," Harry jumped in. "Did you notice anything different over the past days regarding Andrew Jugson?"

"He…" She took a breath. "He was… sick lately. He…" She peered into the fireplace again, and Harry narrowed his eyes. There was something about the way she kept glancing at the fireplace that somehow looked as though she wasn't exactly telling them everything. "He had not been feeling very well, he was shaky, and very pale, and had those terrible migraines…"

Another look at the fireplace prompted Harry to step in. "Mrs Crabbe," he said, detaching each syllable. "Where is your husband?"

She jumped and hastily looked back at him, a small cleft forming between her eyes. "He's…"

Draco leaned forward. "Where is he, Vera?"

Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened, but she said nothing.

"Vera?" Draco pressed her. "Where is he?"

"He—" She froze as something caught her eyes.

The head of a middle-aged man sat in the fire. Mrs Crabbe scrambled out of the settee and crouched down by the hearth. "Healer Grant?"

"I'm afraid I don't have good news, Mrs Crabbe." She exhaled loudly. "You should come over immediately."

Healer Grant's head disappeared from the fire. She stood and reached for the vase next to the picture of her son.

"Mrs Crabbe, what's going on?" Harry asked as she grabbed a handful of Floo powder.

She turned to Draco. "It's Vincent, Draco. He's…" The words died in her throat.

"Go ahead," said Draco. "We'll be with you in a minute."

She nodded to them, and then threw the powder into the fire. She stepped into the green flames and said, "St Mungo's Magical Bugs' floor."

"What the—" Harry started as soon as she was gone.

"We can't leave her alone," Draco retorted. "I don't know what is going on exactly, but we can't leave her—"

"Do you trust her?" Harry cut in.

Something fierce passed in Draco's eyes. "Yes."

That was enough for Harry. "All right. Let's go, then."

* * *

"We're here to see Vincent Crabbe," Draco said in an authoritative tone as soon as they'd reached the visitor's desk where a middle-aged witch was reading a worn issue of Witch Weekly. "Now."

The witch didn't look up from her magazine. Instead, she said. "A little politeness wouldn't hurt."

Draco slapped his hand on the counter and she jumped, finally letting go of the magazine. "Where is he?"

She took in their scarlet Auror robes, but didn't seem unfazed one bit. "And who are you?"

Draco huffed impatiently.

"Aurors Malfoy and Potter," Harry stepped in, taking out their badges. "Here."

"Mr Potter?" a voice asked behind them.

Harry turned and recognised the man that had Floo called Mrs Crabbe just moments before.

"Healer Grant," Harry said. "We have a few questions regarding your patient, Vincent Crabbe."

The man narrowed his eyes, as if hesitating on what to do. He cast a quick glance down the corridor behind Harry. "I need to go back to his side," he said in a deep voice. "But Healer Johnson will be able to help you. Please follow me."

Healer Grant knocked on the second door on his right. The office was clinically neutral. A tall, handsome blond Healer sat behind the metallic desk.

"Healer Johnson," Healer Grant said hurriedly. "I need to go back to Mr Crabbe's side. Could you please provide these gentlemen with the information they need regarding this patient?"

"Of course," Healer Johnson said. "Please take a seat."

Healer Grant left the room and closed the door behind him as Draco and Harry settled in the worn out chairs opposite the Healer's desk.

"How can I help you?" Healer Johnson lay back in the chair, resting his hands over his lime-green robes.

"When did Mr Crabbe arrive here at St Mungo's?" Draco asked, the Quick-quote quill transcribing the conversation on a piece of parchment.

"He was brought in by his wife a couple of days ago."

"Why did she bring him in?" Harry asked.

Healer Johnson cleared his throat. "From what she told us, Mr Crabbe had been suffering from severe headaches and had difficulties breathing."

"Anything else?" Draco enquired.

"Well, he was also shaky and uncharacteristically pale."

Draco's brows shot up in his hair. "What did you do, then?"

The Healer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "What do you think we did?" He shrugged. "We treated him."

Harry stepped in. "But it didn't work."

Healer Johnson shook his head. "No. His state worsened. Very quickly so. He was unable to form proper sentences in the morning yesterday, and by the end of the afternoon, he'd stopped talking altogether."

Draco leaned forward. "What's his prognosis?"

The Healer looked at Draco over his glasses. "Not good."

"How. Long?" Draco insisted.

Healer Johnson sighed and removed his glasses, that he folded neatly in front of him. "Well, to be perfectly honest, with the violence of his symptoms, he should already be dead."

Harry heard Draco swallow hard as he leaned back in his seat, at a loss for words.

Harry took over. "Have you tested him?"

"Of course we have," Healer Johnson replied, brushing the tips of his fingers on the bare surface of the desk. "We ran the traditional tests but nothing out of the ordinary was revealed."

"But did you—"

Harry was interrupted by a loud sob coming from the corridor. They scrambled to their feet at once and rushed out of the room.

Mrs Crabbe was being taken out of her husband's room by a couple of Healers; she staggered against the wall when they let her go, her head thrown back as tears poured down her face.

Draco ran to her. He shouted orders at a young Mediwizard walking nearby. "You," he yelled. "Take care of her." He then rested his hand on Mrs Crabbe's arm. "I'll be back in a minute."

He barged into Crabbe's room and Harry followed suit. A couple of Healers were busying themselves at his side, casting spells after spells to try and bring him back— to no avail. After a few seconds that seemed to last hours, they stopped, and noted the time of death before leaving the room.

Draco brought a hand to his mouth, his eyes wide in disbelief. "No," he said in a broken voice. "No. NO!"

He took out his wand and pointed it at Crabbe's body. _"RENNERVATE!"_ he bellowed and Crabbe's lifeless body jerked with the force of his spell. _"RENNERVATE! RENNERVATE!"_

The distress on his face was terrible to see. The last time Harry had seen Draco in such a state had been in the infamous bathroom during their sixth year. Draco cast spell after spell, despair and helplessness gradually marking his face as Crabbe's body jolted on the hospital bed.

Harry put a hand on his arm and willed him to look at him, but Draco shoved him away.

He continued to cast a whole range of various hexes and spells —some of them Harry had never even heard about— interspersed with muttered, "Come back. Come on. Come back," that broke Harry's heart every time.

"Draco…" Harry tried again after a couple of minutes, squeezing his arm to catch his attention.

Draco's jaw tightened. "He is not—" he said through clenched teeth, before the words caught in his throat. He cast another spell. _"RENNERVATE! VIVARE! RENNERVATE!"_

Harry tilted his head and said again, "Draco…" as gently as he could, even though he knew that right this instant, this wasn't what Draco needed. What Draco needed above all right now, was a proof that Crabbe was still alive. And Harry couldn't give it to him.

"Draco, he's gone," Harry said more firmly.

"HE - IS - NOT - DEAD!" Draco roared. "YOU HEAR ME? HE'S NOT DEAD!"

Harry glanced at the door and saw Mrs Crabbe silently crying on her own in the corridor. He had no idea where the young Mediwizard that was supposed to take care of her had buggered off to, but something had to be done.

"Draco," he said again firmly, grabbing Draco's shoulders and forcing him to look in his eyes. "Draco, listen to me."

Draco finally looked at Harry who almost jumped at the expression on his face. He looked so angry, and lost and sad, and desperate, that Harry wanted nothing than to make things better for him —even though he knew he couldn't. When Sirius had died, Harry had been incapable of any rational thought or action. He'd been paralysed and blinded by his anger towards Bellatrix, the searing pain at the idea of never seeing Sirius again, his absence digging a massive hole in his chest. He knew how horrible it was, knew how no matter what, life going on and people coming and going, things never really were the same again.

"Draco." He tilted his head towards Mrs Crabbe. "She needs you."

It seemed to take Draco out of his trance-like state; he shot a last look at the lifeless body on the hospital bed and walked out of the room, defeated. He took Mrs Crabbe in his arms and Harry's heart broke as he saw her resting her head against his chest, sobbing while he patted her back and whispered words of comfort.

Harry took advantage of the fact he was now alone in the room to take a closer look at Crabbe Senior. He looked unsurprisingly older than the last time Harry had seen him; it had been years, after all. He was also much thinner, and the overall unhealthy aspect of his face —sallow skin and pallid look— left no doubt on the fact that he had been very ill.

The sleeve of his left arm had been rolled up, displaying his faded Dark Mark to the world. Harry didn't know why it had been done —the other arm was still covered— but it glared at him, as hideous as ever. Even though Harry got to see one on a regular basis now, he didn't feel like he would ever get used to it. It encompassed too many terrible things —fear, terror and death, among others.

The rest of Crabbe's body was covered by a thin blanket, except for his feet that were visible at the end of the bed. It'd probably moved when Draco had cast all his spells on him. Harry looked up, but no one seemed to have realised he was still in there. In one swift movement, he pulled the blanket higher, revealing Crabbe's ankles. He leaned closer and his heart jumped in his chest; there, near the fibula on the left ankle, was the same exact green tinge as Andrew Jugson.

* * *

Harry covered Crabbe's feet again and slipped out of the room. Draco was now standing in the corridor, staring into space, alone.

"Where is she?" Harry asked as he joined him.

"They took her for… formalities."

Harry nodded and put his hand on Draco's arm. "How are you?"

Draco sneered. "What do you think?"

"For what it's worth," Harry said. "I'm sorry."

Draco narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to retort something —something probably cutting from the look of it— but at the last moment, he seemed to think better.

"Thank you," he simply said.

"You know I'm here if you… need anything."

Draco released a breath. "I know."

"Right."

Draco's eyes wandered back to the door of Crabbe's room, where a couple of Mediwizards had started cleaning up.

He raked his fingers in his hair. "He's such a huge part of my past, it's just…" His voice broke.

Harry came closer and pressed against him, their arms touching. "I know."

Draco looked helplessly at Harry. "He was… They were just always around when I was a child, we used to see them all the time." Harry nodded. "Did you know he was my godfather?"

"Oh? No, I— I didn't." Again, his thoughts took him to Sirius.

Draco looked at him intently, and Harry wondered what was going on in his head right this instant.

"I need to know who did this," Draco said after a moment, determination painted all over his face.

"We'll find out," Harry said in what he hoped was an assured tone.

"Did you find anything in there?" There was a glint of hope amidst the haze of confusion on his face.

Harry nodded. "Yes." He leaned closer to Draco and whispered. "Same green tinge as Jugson on his left ankle."

Draco blanched. "Oh."

"Indeed." Harry's eyes caught the clock behind the main desk. "We should go. The meeting is about to start."

"Fuck." Draco cast a look at the corridor. "I'd forgotten about the fucking meeting. Let me just find Vera first."

* * *

It took them much longer than anticipated to find Mrs Crabbe in the maze of corridors of St Mungo's, so the meeting had already started when they arrived at the Ministry.

They slid in their usual seats by the door, hoping their entrance wouldn't be noticed too much.

No such luck.

And to make matters worse, Robards wasn't here, so someone else was in charge of the meeting.

"How blessed we all are," Smith sneered in his hateful nasal voice. "Aurors Potter and Malfoy are gratifying us with their presence."

Harry pressed his foot against Draco's in a soothing motion.

"Pray tell us what took you from being here on time?"

"We were working on the Jugson case," Harry said quietly.

"Oh, well then, since this case seems to be much more important to you than this meeting, would you mind to enlighten us about the latest developments?"

Harry glanced at Draco who nodded almost imperceptibly at him. "We have another victim."

"Oh, look at that," Smith said in a slick tone, a self-satisfied grin on his face as he addressed his audience. "Another victim."

"Yes."

"And who is this, now?"

"Vincent Crabbe Senior." Draco glared at him, daring him to say anything.

Harry saw Blaise's eyes open wide in shock, but most of the Aurors present sniggered, while others sported a smug smile; Crabbe Senior had not left the best memories to the Auror forces. Harry couldn't blame them: he had never been a great fan of the man himself.

"Another Death Eater?" Smith smirked. "Well..." He turned to a few of his sympathisers, and then back to them. "So, what do you have so far? I can't wait to hear the fascinating tale of your little case."

Harry clenched his fists under the table but refused to give Smith the pleasure to lose his temper. He told them what they had, avoiding the eyes of Smith's lackeys in favour of the Aurors he knew to be more open-minded. He told them about Vera Crabbe's affair with Andrew Jugson; how her husband had found out about it; how they'd gone to question them early in the morning, but only Mrs Crabbe had been at home. He then finished by telling them about their trip to St Mungo's and Crabbe's death.

"Any suspects?" Proudfoot, a rather moody but independent Auror asked. He'd never accepted to play Smith's little game for power.

Harry felt Draco tense significantly next to him. He pressed his foot harder against Draco's. "We… It's not very clear, yet."

"Really?" Smith said, raising an eyebrow in fake surprise. "It seems dead easy to me. It's the wife, as always."

Harry looked straight at him. "It's still very early in the investigation. And we don't even have a motive."

"But at that rate," Smith said. "There will be more victims by the end of the week, Auror Potter, although that might not completely be a bad thing for the wizarding world," he added, staring at Draco. "Natural selection, I shall say."

Draco jumped to his feet and his chair crashed to the floor in a loud noise. "You bastard," he shouted as Harry and Blaise tried to stop him. "You fucking bastard!"

Smith snarled. "What a filthy mouth, Malfoy. Have you learned it all from dear Lucius?"

Draco made to throw himself at him again, but Harry held him firmly in place. "He's not worth it," he murmured.

Draco glared at Smith, and then picked up his chair. He glared at Smith for what felt like hours before sitting back, a sneer on his face.

Proudfoot stepped in again. "What are the common factors in these deaths so far?"

"They were both Death Eaters," Harry said, relieved to get back to the subject at hand.

"Oh, come on. I'm sure you can do better than that, Auror Potter," said Smith.

Harry tangled his ankle with Draco's under the table to prevent him from reacting again. "They were both involved with Vera Crabbe."

"And surely," Smith said, a triumphant smile on his face as he looked at Draco. "You have brought her in for questioning by now?"

Harry hated that Smith was right: Mrs Crabbe was their only serious lead so far. Even if they didn't really have a motive for now, the fact remained that Mrs Crabbe had a privileged relationship with both men.

"She's just lost her husband," Draco said, cringing. "Can't that wait a little?"

"Not if she's our murderer, Auror Malfoy. We wouldn't want any other _Death Eaters_ to die, would we?" His fake smile dropped. "Bring her in."

"Fine," Draco said through clench teeth.

"And search her house as well."

Draco stood and left. Harry sighed as he followed him out of the room. This was definitely going to be a long day.

* * *

If Harry's tantrums were loud and difficult to ignore, Draco's were silent, oppressively so.

He didn't say a word on the way back to their office, and dropped heavily in his chair. He rested his elbows on the desk, holding his head with two fingers on each temple.

"Draco…" Harry started.

"Shh," Draco cut him. "Can't you see I'm thinking?"

Harry folded his arms on his chest. "We don't have much choice in this. We have to bring her in for further questioning, you know it."

"Oh, thank you so very much, Potter, I hadn't gathered that," Draco sneered. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Harry sighed. "Fine. You know where I am."

Draco snorted but said nothing more.

Harry walked to his desk and went through the elements in their possession to start on the new report. He collected the facts they had so far, but the more he thought about the whole thing, the less it made sense to him. He tried imagining Vera Crabbe killing her husband; it wasn't impossible _per se_ , from what they'd read from the letters. Maybe she'd felt threatened by him now that he knew about her affair with Jugson. Maybe she just wanted to get rid of him in order to spend more time with her lover. All of these made sense in a way. But what about Jugson, then? Why kill him? No matter how many times Harry turned the whole thing over in his head, it didn't make much sense; he couldn't find a plausible motive for Vera Crabbe.

"Let's go and get her," Draco said after a few minutes.

"We could send someone else, you know?"

"No." Draco shook his head. "I'd rather it's us than some revenge-thirsty Auror who'd have a field trip humiliating her."

Harry nodded. "All right. Let's go."

They found themselves outside of the gates of Crabbe manor for the second time that day. The sky was as grey and depressing as it had been earlier, but the fog had lifted and it wasn't as cold as before. Mrs Crabbe had taken down the wards to let them in, so thankfully Draco didn't have to remove them in front of the whole crowd from the DMLE that was waiting for them.

Draco went to see Mrs Crabbe immediately, while Harry gave his orders to search the place. They didn't have much time; they needed to collect as many samples here as they could, and see if they found anything that could have been ingested by Crabbe Sr. and that would have led to his death —if their poisoning theory was the right one— before Harry and Draco could analyse them.

When Harry was done with the DMLE people, having given his instructions on how to collect and organise the samples, they brought Mrs Crabbe to the Ministry.

They questioned her again there, and recorded her testimony with Harry's Quick-Quote quill. As expected, they learned nothing more than in the morning. They couldn't arrest her; they had nothing against her that would justify to keep her at the Ministry any longer and so, after an hour, they let her go.

* * *

Draco was once again quiet and lost in thoughts on the way back to their office. He lay back in his chair, his chin propped in his hand as he swivelled gently from left to right.

Harry busied himself at his desk, organising the notes the Quick-Quote quill had taken during Mrs Crabbe's interview. He was about to start on the report when Draco stood abruptly and grabbed his cloak. "I'm off."

"Oh?" Harry said. "Where to?"

"Grimmauld Place. I need to set up my lab so that I can start working on the poison as quickly as possible."

"Okay…" It wouldn't be a problem; Harry had already changed the wards at Grimmauld Place to let Draco use the formal dining-room he'd chosen to set his lab. "Do you have everything you need, then?"

"Yes. I… have a few things at the manor that I'm going to go and get and then… I'll go shopping in Diagon and Knockturn for the rest."

"Oh. All right then." Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. "Do you need help for… anything?" He didn't really think Draco needed him at all, but it was better to ask anyway.

Draco narrowed his eyes a little and tilted his head. "No. I'll be fine."

"Okay, then. Well, have fun." Harry shrugged. "I guess."

Draco's face finally broke into a timid smile. "I will."

"I'll see you later."

"Yes."

Harry let out a breath as soon as the door had closed behind Draco and rubbed his face under his glasses. It was hard for him to try and let Draco deal with everything that was going on and not be too pushy or pressing.

He sighed and got back to work.

* * *

Harry decided to take a break from the Jugson case and catch up with all the other cases they were working on at the same time. Spending time outside and stretching his legs a little felt good and helped him clear his mind.

At the end of the afternoon, he decided to call it a day and see what Draco was up to. He believed Draco had had enough time by himself to install his lab and think about everything that was going on by now.

But the real reason was that Harry missed him and needed to see him. He stopped by their office again just to grab the suitcases containing the samples from both Jugson's flat and the Crabbe's mansion and headed to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Harry managed to enter the house without waking Mrs Black, which was both a feat and a relief. He made his way to the dining-room and stopped dead on the doorstep.

His jaw dropped in awe.

The room in front of him looked very different from what it had been just a day before: shelves and cupboards now covered every single wall, and bore an incredible amount of items Snape would have been jealous of. Everything was of course very neatly organised —the various recipients were displayed by size and use, the Potions items were stored in different sizes of jars and bore labels with Draco's precise handwriting on each and every one of them; at the bottom of the main shelf were several cauldrons in various sizes and materials —pewter, brass, copper and even a small silver one.

Harry's breath caught at the sight of Draco's slender figure bent over a large, self-stirring cauldron, ingredients and phials all around him as he deftly measured and added them to whatever potion he was working on. His face was so serious that a cleft had formed between his eyebrows. He was beautiful in the dim light of the gas lamp sitting on the table, so focused on what he was doing that he hadn't even noticed Harry was here.

It was incredible, really to see Draco like that. He looked transformed. Harry knew he'd always been passionate about all things potions but to have managed to set such a lab in such a short amount of time must have taken a lot of preparation and thoughts. There was no way Draco could have improvised any of this: he must have spent hours imagining what his ideal lab would look like to come to such a result in so little time.

Harry cleared his throat, and Draco looked up at him. A small smile curled up as the corner of his mouth.

"Welcome to my lab," Draco said, a hint of pride in his voice. "So. What do you think?"

Harry dropped the suitcases on the table. "It's… It's incredible, Draco, honestly, that's amazing," he said, walking along the shelves and taking in even more details than before: the ingredients were sorted in alphabetical order, for Merlin's sake.

Draco smiled again. "Of course it is."

"I really have no words, I had no idea that this was what you had in mind."

"I— Well, it's…" Draco shrugged. "I thought that since you—"

"Oh, no," Harry cut in. "That's not what I meant, it's— I'm glad."

Draco grinned at him and it struck Harry how happy he looked at this moment, despite everything that was going on, and without thinking, he threw himself at Draco and kissed him soundly, holding him tight.

Draco let out a soft whimper but kissed him back. Harry almost lost himself into the kiss but pulled away before it could happen.

"So, did you find anything at all?" he asked, jamming his hands in his pockets.

Draco shook his head. "I've barely just started."

"I've brought you the main samples. I thought we could work on them again tonight."

Draco nodded. "Good idea." He grabbed a couple of rat's tails and chopped them quickly before throwing them into the cauldron. He then took a blue phial from the nearest shelf and uncorked it with long, delicate fingers. Harry had always had a thing for Draco's fingers and now that he knew how Draco could use them… the sight was one of the most erotic thing he had seen in his life.

"Stop staring at me like that, Potter, you're going to drop drool into the cauldron." Draco smirked and looked up at him. Harry's cheeks burned a little. "I have thankfully managed to stay away from your terribly poor skills in Potions for six years and I intend for my work not to be threatened by your incompetence on the subject."

Harry laughed. "Well, I was far from being attracted to you in Potions."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Were you, really?"

"Oh, absolutely," Harry replied mischievously.

"You don't mean that."

"Oh, believe me, I totally do. No romantic hidden agenda on my part at least." He snorted. "Although, that could've been interesting."

"Why is that?" Draco asked as he stirred the potion.

"Just imagine brewing Amortentia in front of Snape: 'I can smell expensive Quidditch gear, smugness, and hair gel.'"

"Hair gel?" Draco looked bewildered.

"Oh yes." Harry grinned. "We had bets in the Gryffindor common room about your hair."

Draco's brows shot up in his hair. "Really?"

Harry nodded. "Uh-huh."

"And pray tell what your ridiculous bets were about?"

"Well…" Harry's smile grew wider. "They were mainly about how many hours you spent on your hair every morning, what kind of obscure ingredients you used to slick it like that—"

"Wait." Draco turned to Harry, a puzzled look on his face. "Obscure ingredients?"

"Oh yes." Harry chuckled. "The most popular theory was that you used Centaur semen collected during a full moon."

Draco shook his head. "You people are very deranged."

Harry laughed. "Oh, come on! Don't tell me Slytherins never place bets on anything."

"Absolutely not, Potter!" Draco retorted, looking offended. "We wouldn't stoop so low as to place bets on anything."

"Right," Harry said. "But you know the thing Gryffindors argued the most about was?"

"Shall I brace myself?"

Harry smiled. "It was whether you were a real blond or not."

"Wait." Draco paused. "What? People _doubted_ I was a real blond?"

Harry chortled; count on Draco to be offended by something like that. "Oh yes. That was the most popular of all our bets, as a matter of fact."

"And what did people say?"

"Well," Harry said, enjoying the expectant look on Draco's face. "Most people thought you dyed it."

Draco looked outraged. "Absolutely not!"

"Well," Harry said, raising an eyebrow suggestively, "I do know that now, but at the time…"

"I can't believe it…" Draco said, wiping his hands on a towel and coming closer. "But then, it sounds perfectly natural that _I_ would be at the centre of all you plebeians' discussions."

"Of course." Harry ran a hand in his hair. "But what about me, then? What would my Amortentia have smelled for you?"

Draco brought his face closer to Harry's and looked up. "Um, let's see… terribly unkempt hair, a massive hero complex mixed with an unsavoury dose of arse-licking." He looked pretty proud of himself.

"Arse licking?" Harry said in a seductive tone. "Is that a proposition?"

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Ew. Absolutely not, Potter. That is disgusting."

"Really?" Harry replied, amused.

"Why, of course," Draco said, looking repulsed at the thought. "I have no intention to have anyone put their tongue up my arse, thank you very much."

"And the other way round?"

"Are you insane?" The look of horror on Draco's face was priceless. "Putting my delicate tongue up…" He sported a look of utter disgust now. "…There? That's… plainly repulsive."

"And yet you have no qualms sticking your fingers or your cock there." Harry chuckled and shook his head. "You don't know what you're missing."

A flicker of surprise passed through Draco's face. "You've already…" He frowned. "Or has someone…"

"Do you mean to ask if I got rimmed or if I've done it to other people?"

Draco winced again. "No need to be that specific about it, I don't have to know all the details." He paused and then asked in an uncertain tone. "Have you?"

Harry smiled. "Of course I have."

Draco frowned. "Which…"

"Both."

"Oh." Draco looked pensive and almost shy now. "And it was…" he enquired, tilting his head slightly sideways.

"Amazing." Harry grinned. "You should try it sometimes."

"I— No. I'm not…" Draco blushed and Harry's grin widened at the sight. "No thank you."

"Okay."

"Now stop distracting me from my work and make yourself useful for once."

Harry chuckled. "It's good to have you back."

He grabbed the suitcases with the samples he'd brought with him and started working on them.

* * *

Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses and yawned. The sun had long set on Grimmauld Place and he had spent the whole evening going through each and every sample from Jugson's flat, sorting them out and categorising them. He was only half-way through the ones from Crabbe manor, but he had a hard time keeping his attention on his work any more at that point.

He dropped his quill on the table and stood. "I'm exhausted," he said. "I can't concentrate anymore."

"Mm," Draco replied as he poured a few drops of armadillo bile into his cauldron.

"I'm going home." Harry yawned again. "You coming?"

Draco finally lifted his eyes. "No. I won't…" He looked into Harry's face. "I'm going to stay at the Manor tonight."

"Oh." Disappointment burnt in Harry's stomach.

Draco pushed his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand. "I need to… see my parents about…" His voice caught and he cleared his throat. "You know."

"Of course," Harry said, grabbing his cloak. "I understand."

He rounded the table and Draco leaned forward to kiss him, his hands still above the cauldron.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Harry nodded. "Yes." He let his hand linger for a little while on Draco's waist before turning to the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the hearth. "Have a good night."

"You too."

* * *

Harry's living-room was dark and cold when he arrived, so he opted for a hot shower. As he let the water warm his bones, he tried to think of everything that had happened today: Mrs Crabbe's first interview, followed by their trip at St Mungo's and Crabbe's death. He smiled again at the thought of Draco and his lab, and let his body relax under the spray.

He dried himself and crossed the living-room to his bedroom, his still damp feet sinking into the thick carpet. He stopped by the shelves near his bedroom door, the one holding his favourite books. He certainly wasn't as bookish as Hermione or even Draco was —and never would be— but over the years, he had accumulated a small amount of books and took pleasure in reading and re-reading them. It'd been a while since he'd read anything that wasn't work-related though, and somehow, he missed it. Needed it even, tonight.

He ran his fingers on the coloured spines and stopped on a small, worn out book. He smiled as he picked it up.

He dropped his towel on the floor by his bedside and opened his wardrobe in search of a pair of boxers. He grinned as he noticed that his underwear was all neatly folded, and sorted out by colour, something that would never ever have occurred to him.

He got into bed, grateful for his duvet —a rather poor compensation for Draco's absence— but it was better than nothing. Harry hoped Draco would somehow find comfort in his parents tonight.

He opened the beloved book and started to read.

 _Stave One. Marley's Ghost._

 _Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that._

He slid a little further under the sheets and let the story take him away.

* * *

"Mm," Harry said, heavy with sleep, in this delicious state of limbo when you're not fully asleep, yet not completely awake either. He felt his head tilt a little as something scrapped his temples, and he barely realised someone was taking his glasses off.

"Terribly trustful, for an Auror," Draco's voice reached him through a thick layer of fogginess.

"Draco?" he asked, still not opening his eyes.

He felt the mattress dip next to him, and Draco removed the book from his belly.

" _A Christmas Carol?_ In May?" Draco's tone was playful. "Only you, Potter."

"Hmm." Even through tightly closed eyes, Harry could feel the smile in his voice, and it warmed him.

He felt the soft brushing of lips against his temple and then Draco slid into bed next to him. Harry lay down, pulling up the sheets, still not opening his eyes, as Draco snuggled up under his arm. Harry's foggy brain registered warmth and Draco's unmistakable, familiar scent.

"You didn't stay at your parents'," he muttered against Draco's hair.

Draco chuckled. "Obviously."

Harry wrapped his arms tighter around him. "I'm glad."

Again, he felt Draco's smile against his neck before Draco kissed the tender skin there. "So am I."

Harry yawned. "Your hair smells funny."

"I took a shower at the manor so I used a real, delicate cleansing lotion, not that Muggle abomination you insist on buying."

It was Harry's turn to smile. "Mm, don't do that again. I like it when you smell like me."

Another smile, another kiss, and a barely audible answer. "Me too."


	7. Tempest

**~CHAPTER 7~**

 **Tempest**

* * *

Harry walked at a good pace through the corridors of the DMLE, thinking about everything that had happened over the past couple of days.

Those days had passed in a blur. Harry had gone through all the elements they had in their possession for the umpteenth time, searching for leads and for anything they might have missed previously. He had tried to make all the connections he could between Crabbe and Jugson, without result. He'd also had to deal with their other current cases, since Draco hadn't set foot in their office since Crabbe's death.

Draco had spent countless hours working on every sample both from Jugson's flat and from Crabbe manor over the past couple of days. The process was long and fastidious, especially since Draco had then to compare each and every single one of them with what was in the autopsy report. So far, he hadn't found anything interesting, but his tenacity impressed Harry.

Draco's long hours at Grimmauld Place had prompted them to spend a few nights there. Without discussing the matter, they'd settled in Harry's former bedroom. It had done something to Harry, to find himself in bed with Draco in a different place than their usual shack. It'd brought back memories of the first time they'd got together, the first time they'd made love together, at the Gentlewizard estate in Yorkshire.

After the initial shock of Crabbe's death, Draco had rapidly gone back to his old self. A little bit too rapidly, in Harry's mind. Harry knew it was part of Draco's defence mechanism, as he had witnessed it multiple times in the past; the way he needed to rewrite history, to hide his feelings behind over-the-top reactions.

Still, Harry knew him enough to see right through him. He would catch the moments when Draco's eyes got lost into space, when he thought Harry wasn't looking. The moments a tiny cleft formed between his eyebrows as his eyes caught the picture he had pinned to a shelf in his lab. That picture had made an appearance the day after Crabbe's death, and showed the Malfoys and the Crabbes having tea in the gardens of Malfoy manor, when Draco and Vincent were still toddlers.

However rare these moments were, they existed.

* * *

Harry was still lost in his thoughts when he finally reached the Conference room for their daily meeting with Robards. He was almost surprised to see Draco sitting in his usual chair by the door.

"Hey," Harry said as he came to sit next to Draco. "Anything new?"

"No," Draco replied. "I still have to—"

But Draco was interrupted by Smith and Robards entering the room. Just one look at their faces told Harry everything he needed to know: this would not be an ordinary meeting. Smith didn't even take a single look in their direction. Something was _very_ wrong.

"We have a problem," Robards started without preamble, and Harry sat up in his chair, suddenly very curious and interested. Robards never ever started a meeting in that way. They usually had to suffer through a never-ending patronising speech about the important role of the Aurors in the Wizarding society before they could start working on anything.

Today, though, his tone was very different.

"I'll go straight to the point," Robards announced. "Another victim was found dead. Auror Proudfoot?"

Proudfoot opened the file in front of him and started. "Robert Avery, 46, was found dead yesterday night in the middle of Knockturn Alley."

"Avery?" Harry said and he felt Draco tense significantly next to him. "The Death Eater?" Harry knew him pretty well, for having crossed his path on several occasions. He knew he'd been imprisoned after the war, but had no idea what had become of him after that.

"The very same," Proudfoot said.

Harry shook his head. "This is no coincidence."

Smith opened his mouth to retort something but Robards beat him to it. "What do you mean, Auror Potter?"

"This is the third death of a Death Eater, that we know of, in a few days. First, Jugson, then Crabbe, and now Avery."

"I agree with Potter," Swanson said on Harry's right. "There seems to be a pattern here."

"What do you have so far?" Blaise asked.

Harry stood. "Well, first, Andrew Jugson, 43, was found dead at the bottom of a cliff in Cornwall a week ago exactly. It looked like a suicide at first, but after further investigation, Malfoy found that he had ingested a rather high quantity of hallucinogens leading to him jumping off the cliff." Harry paused, looking at the Aurors assembled around the table, happy to note he had their attention. "Several witnesses have stated that a few days before his death, he had appeared unusually frail and sick."

"Continue," Robards said, and Harry was glad to see him finally interested in the case.

"Second," Harry went on, "Vincent Crabbe Senior, 54, died on Tuesday at St Mungo's. His wife had brought him there a couple of days before. He'd been complaining about severe headaches and had difficulties breathing. Despite the Healers's treatment, his state deteriorated rapidly and he died."

"Did he also have hallucinations?" Proudfoot asked.

Harry shook his head. "Not that we know of."

"Thank you, Auror Potter, that'd be all," Smith said, without even looking at him.

"Wait," Harry said, turning back to Proudfoot. "What do you have on Avery?"

"Not much," Proudfoot said, skimming through the file. He paused when he had found what he was looking for. "We know he was found by a wizard yesterday in the evening. At first, the man thought he was asleep, but when he tried to wake him up, he realised that he was dead."

"Where's the body now?" Harry asked, getting more and more excited by the minute.

"St Mungo's."

"Right." Harry glanced at Draco who nodded to him, before Harry turned back to Robards. "Sir, I must see the body." The green tinge. He had to check. Harry explained what they had found on Crabbe and Jugson's ankle.

"So," Robards asked when Harry was done. "This is poisoning to you?"

"Yes," Draco said, sitting up. "I've spent the last couple of days testing the various samples we collected from Jugson's and Crabbe's."

"And what did you find?"

Harry sat back in his chair. He perceived the tiniest intake of breath from Draco before he answered. "Not much, unfortunately," Draco said. "There are an incredible number of samples, and the tests take time."

"Wait a minute." Smith smirked and Harry braced himself. "What proof do you have in favour of the poisoning theory?"

Draco's voice was tight when he answered. "All the elements we have: the symptoms, the manner of death, the green tinge found on the victims' ankle, everything points to poisoning."

"Points to?" Smith said, and Harry's fingers tightened around the seat of his chair. "Excuse me, Malfoy, but I've asked you about actual proof, not hazardous speculations." Smith looked straight at Draco, not bothering to hide his disgust for him. "Where's the evidence?"

"I will find it," Draco replied through clenched teeth.

"Oh really. You will, won't you?" Smith said smugly.

Harry felt Draco tense further next to him.

"So," Blaise said, and Harry was grateful to him for taking the attention away from Smith. "We're looking for a common murderer who would want what? To kill Death Eaters? For what, revenge?"

Draco nodded. "Possibly."

"And I suppose," Blaise went on. "That if we don't find them very quickly…"

"We must expect more deaths," Proudfoot finished.

There was a heavy silence in the room. Everybody seemed to be holding their breath. There weren't many former Death Eaters left. The most dangerous ones, such as Rodolphus Lestrange, were still behind bars in the North Sea. But the vast majority of them had done their sentence in Azkaban and were now free.

Harry felt Draco's foot press against his under the table, and he was grateful for the comfort this silent support brought him.

And then, almost immediately, the feeling of comfort disappeared, only to be replaced by something much less pleasant. He felt the blood leave his face as realisation struck: if the murderer targeted former Death Eaters, then it meant that the ones who were free weren't safe.

None of them.

Including Draco.

Harry felt his pulse thrumming at his neck as he spoke. "We have to take measures."

"What do you suggest?" Robards asked.

"Protection."

There was a murmur in the room. Harry saw Blaise nod at him as Draco shifted on his chair.

Robards raised an eyebrow. "Protection?"

Harry took a deep breath. "The murderer or murderers apparently target former Death Eaters. If we want to avoid any more people to die, we need to protect the potential victims until we catch them."

Another low murmur rolled in the room and soon, everybody started talking at once.

Finally, Smith's voice rose and the room went silent. "So, if I sum this up, Auror Potter." Smith sneered. "You want to mobilise the Auror forces to protect _Death Eaters?"_

Harry looked right in his eyes. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Smith snorted loudly. "And why would we do that? Why would we mobilise our forces on these… _people."_ He spat the last word more than said it, "While other, more respectable wizards need our help as well?"

Harry's blood froze in his veins and a shiver went down his spine. "Because it is our duty, _Zacharias,_ to protect everyone."

"I disagree," Smith retorted. "We have to prioritise, _Harry._ "

"We're talking about actual murders here, not people needing our help to go and catch a Kneazle stuck up in a tree!" Harry said indignantly. " _Murders._ People dying."

 _"_ _People,"_ Smith smirked.

"People are people," Susan cut in. "No matter what they did before."

"And as far as I know," said Harry, "We are taught in Auror training to 'serve and protect people,' not to 'serve and protect people who have an irreproachable past.'"

"Here we go again," said Thorpe, a white-haired man sitting next to Robards and who had been his Auror partner for decades before Robards became Head Auror. "I'm sick of hearing about these people over and over again. They've lost the war, they should be in Azkaban. If they still were, we wouldn't have all these problems and we could focus on real, important issues."

"I agree," Gallagher, Thorpe's current partner said. "If the Minister had applied the zero tolerance policy like he should have, and by that I mean life sentences in Azkaban, not the mere few years they got away with, we wouldn't be sitting here today wasting our time over non-issues."

Harry exhaled hard. Here we go again, he thought. The same old debate since the end of the war. The young, progressive generation versus the conservative side of the DMLE.

"Non-issues?" Susan Bones said. "You call the death of three people a non-issue?"

"Oh, please, not you, Bones," Gallagher retorted.

"Why not?" Susan said, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.

"Well, I would've thought that you, of all people, wouldn't side for _them_. After all, you know very well what Death Eaters are capable of," Gallagher said with a sly smile. "Or shall I remind you of the hours of torture your aunt went through before they left her to die like an animal?"

Susan's mouth twitched.

"Those people have no qualms coming after us," Thorpe stepped in again. "They've killed many of very good men and women already. I'd say, why don't we let the murderer finish the job before those bastards come after us? Because they will, I'm telling you." He paused to relinquish the effect his words had on the Aurors present in the room. "They will come after us at one point, trust me."

Susan licked her lips and looked straight at him. "Oh, you needn't be scared, Thorpe," she said quietly. "They won't come after you. They only go after the ones who've got balls."

There were a few snickers in the room. Thorpe was as red as his Auror cloak.

"I think I'm starting to fall in love with her," Blaise murmured to Harry.

"You're already in love with her," Harry replied in the same tone and almost laughed, despite the seriousness of the moment, at the look of mixed incredulity and disgust on Blaise's face. Harry addressed the room again. "Let's not linger over what could've been right now," he said. "We wouldn't even have this discussion if the victims were Ministry employees. These people need our protection, end of the story."

Smith sneered. "I always knew you were a Death Eater lover."

Harry had to laugh at that. "Yeah, that's me. I love them so much that I killed their leader."

"You certainly seem to have no qualms working with one." Smith tilted his chin towards Draco.

Harry's fist clenched under the table. He felt Draco tense significantly next to him again, but didn't look at him. "Draco is an Auror."

"And a Death Eater."

" _Former_ Death Eater," Harry countered.

"Once a Death Eater," Smith said with glee. "Always a Death Eater."

"And you certainly know what you're talking about, Smith," Draco said coolly. "Once a coward, always a coward."

Smith's smile faltered and his mouth curled into a sneer. "I am not a coward," he spat.

"Well, you did desert the battlefield at the beginning of the Battle of Hogwarts," Susan said nonchalantly. "Everybody saw you bowling over first-years to get out of there as quickly as possible."

Smith was as white as a sheet now, and Harry had a very hard time containing the laugh that threatened to escape his throat.

Smith stood, and pointed an accusing finger at Draco. "I will _not_ be compared to any of his kind. _I_ never killed anyone, I never even tried to kill anyone, unlike him! And here he is, parading like a Hippogriff expecting everyone to bow to him and treat him with respect. I will not—" Smith stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he stared at Draco, who had unbuttoned the left sleeve of his shirt and was casually rolling it up.

The room was eerily silent as every single Auror now stared at the deep black Dark Mark covering Draco's forearm. Smith gasped.

"Problem, Auror Smith?" Draco said, a dangerous glint passing through his eyes as he stared right back at Smith.

Smith had gone so pale he almost looked as if his eyebrows had vanished.

"There is no need for that, Auror Malfoy," said Robards sternly.

"Draco, don't," Harry whispered.

"Really?" Draco said, ignoring Harry.

"Malfoy, this is disgraceful."

"Oh, Smith," Draco finally said in a syrupy tone. "And thinking we were about to become the best of pals. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"That's enough!" Robards said loudly. "Malfoy, cover your arm again. This meeting is adjourned until I have reached a decision. In the meantime, everyone goes back to their current cases."

* * *

Harry and Draco made their way back to their office, both lost in thoughts. The idea of Draco being in potential danger had not left Harry and made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His brain tried to come up with solutions to keep Draco away from danger, but since they didn't really know what they were up against, none were satisfying. Besides, Draco would throw a fit at the mere hint that Harry was even considering protecting him.

Once back in their office, Draco went to the coat rack and grabbed his cloak.

Harry frowned. "Where are you going?"

"I'm off to the Manor." Draco gracefully put on his cloak.

"The Manor?"

"Yes, Potter, the place where my parents live," Draco said as if addressing a three year old.

Despite Draco's tone, Harry couldn't help noticing that he'd said _'_ where my parents live,' and not, 'where _I_ live.'

Draco sighed as he took in the look on Harry's face and his features softened. He reached for Harry's cheek, cupping it tenderly before placing a kiss on Harry's mouth.

"I have to do it," he said in a softer tone. "I won't stand there and wait until Robards takes measures. It might be too late by then."

"You mean you want to…" Harry waved his hand.

Draco planted his eyes in Harry's. "I—" he started, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his cloak. "I think I'm going to spend a few days there, just in case."

"But—" Harry spluttered. "What about the case?"

Draco shrugged. "I can still work from there."

"But the tests?" Harry insisted. "The lab?"

"Is the Floo connected to the Network in Grimmauld Place?"

"Well, yes," Harry replied. "It was the first address I gave the DMLE when I started training."

"Good. Well, since the Manor is connected as well, it'll be easy for me to go back and forth."

It'd never occurred to Harry that the Ministry had willingly connected the Manor to the Floo Network. But since that was Draco's address, and he was an Auror, Harry guessed it made sense.

"It could be dangerous," Harry said again. "I mean, we know someone is trying to poison people, but what if they decided to change tactics? To kill them in a quicker and more, er, efficient way?"

"Oh, Potter." Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm very touched by your concern, but like you said at the meeting, I am an Auror. You know the three-year training and all these tests I passed with flying colours? It wasn't just for the sake of wearing Gryffindor colours every single day of my life. They had a purpose, you see. I _am_ a very capable Auror."

"I know you are," Harry said, annoyed. "But don't you think it could be dangerous to concentrate several, er, potential targets in the same place?"

"I don't care." Draco said as he fastened his cloak. "My father's in danger, and I won't let anyone jeopardise either my mother's or his safety. I'm moving back in there."

"Then so am I," Harry blurted. He hadn't thought this through. Not really.

Draco frowned and a cleft formed between his eyes. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." Harry's voice sounded way more assured than he really was.

"But why?"

Harry shrugged. "Moral support?"

"You're willing to go and what, basically live with my parents just to—"

"Yes," Harry cut in. "It's just for a few days, anyway, right?"

"Yes, yes, of course. But." Draco paused. "You do remember who my parents are, Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "As if I could ever forget the numerous times your father tried to do me in. But it doesn't matter. I want to be able to help."

Draco narrowed his eyes, scrutinising him, and Harry held his gaze. "Mm," he said after a moment that seemed like hours. "You might prove useful there," Draco finally said.

"Oh, thank you," Harry deadpanned. "I'm very flattered you would consider me as useful."

"You're welcome, Potter. I like making people happy."

"God, you're—"

"I know," Draco whispered before kissing Harry again. "But I mean it. There are a few books in the library at the Manor that could be of interest in the case."

"Okay." Harry reached up for another kiss. The way Draco acted, always needing to be close to Harry, always needing to touch him, made Harry's toes curl in his shoes.

"I'll go and warn my parents immediately so that my father has all the time in the world to think of various evil plans to make your life miserable while we're there."

"Sounds fun." Harry sniggered. "I can't wait."

"I know." Draco grinned. "I'll have to tell them that we had no choice though, that the orders come from the DMLE and that we couldn't do otherwise."

Harry nodded.

"AND," Draco said. "No fooling around while we're there. As far as my parents know, we're just colleagues."

"Fine." Harry felt a pang at Draco's words. But he had to be reasonable, and let Draco go at his own pace. "In the meantime, I'll go and check Avery's body at St Mungo's."

"Right, you do that." Draco pressed another kiss to Harry's lips. "I'm off. First to the manor, and then I'll go back to Grimmauld Place. I have to go through all the medicinal potions Jugson ingested over the past weeks. I'll see you later."

"Later."

The door slammed behind Draco, and Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

He was going to stay at Malfoy Manor.

Well, that was going to be interesting.

* * *

Harry had to set himself into motion. He went to check if they had any memos, which they did, including a red one from Kingsley asking him to come over to his office as soon as possible, so Harry went immediately.

The rich, baritone voice of the Minister reached Harry through the thick wood panel as he knocked on the door.

"Harry." Kingsley stood from his dragon-hide chair to greet him. "Please take a seat."

"Thanks." Harry sat in one of the two armchairs facing Kingsley's mahogany desk. It was a rather imposing desk, but there were barely any papers on it. Kingsley liked keeping things in order, and it showed in the way his office was organised.

"I've asked to meet with you," Kingsley started in his deep, low voice, "so that you could tell me more about the Death Eater murders case."

Harry frowned. "Shouldn't you be asking the Head Auror about it?"

"I already have," Kingsley replied. "I want to hear what _you_ have to say about it. After all, you're one of the two Aurors in charge of the investigation."

Harry nodded. "Fair enough." He told Kingsley everything, from the day they found Jugson in Cornwall at the bottom of the cliff, to Vera Crabbe, Vincent Crabbe's death at St Mungo's and Avery's body found in Knockturn Alley.

"Thank you, Harry." Kingsley leaned forward in his chair, and let his elbows rest on his desk. "What line of action would you choose right now? If you could decide."

"Well, like I told the Head Auror, I'd first and foremost protect the potential targets," Harry said. "There are not many of them, and we know everyone's whereabouts, so it shouldn't be too hard to do."

"For how long would you do that?" Kingsley asked.

"Not for long," Harry replied. "Just a few days."

"Would that be enough for you to catch the murderer?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Well, hopefully."

"Head Auror Robards doesn't seem to think the same," Kingsley said, his face unreadable. "I have just received this."

Kingsley retrieved a blue memo from the drawer of his desk and handed it to Harry.

Harry shook his head as he discovered the content. He discarded the memo back on the desk and looked up at Kingsley. "He won't do it," Harry said bitterly, unable to hold back the disappointment that flared inside him. "He's made his decision and he won't send Aurors to protect former Death Eaters."

Kingsley shook his head. "Indeed he won't."

Harry couldn't believe it. For once, Robards had the opportunity to show himself as a true leader, and he failed miserably by choosing, once again, the easy way, too afraid to ruffle his supporters's feathers.

"What else would you do?" Kingsley asked again.

"Well…" Harry replied. "I'd go for quiet. We need to buy time until we know for sure who's behind those attacks. For now, we have no clue as to who the perpetrator is."

Kingsley leaned forward. "So you wouldn't be favourable to making the progress you've made public just yet?"

"No."

Kingsley looked surprised. "Why not?"

Harry took a deep breath. "It'd put the potential victims in a greater danger."

"I see," Kingsley replied. "However, it could also reassure the rest of the population."

"I—" Harry had to choose his words carefully. "I know what you mean, sir. But I don't think it would be a good sign to send to the wizarding population. I mean." Harry rubbed his hand on his trousers. "You've spent the last years trying to bring people together, your whole policy aims at unity, and I'm afraid…" Harry looked up. "I'm afraid stigmatising a category of the population—no matter what this category is—would lead to an animosity and fear that would risk to destroy what you've worked so hard to build."

Kingsley nodded but said nothing.

"So, yeah," Harry went on. "That'd be a mistake for me. We still need more time to figure out the whole thing, and we won't be able to do so if we inform people, and among them the murderer, what exactly we're looking for."

"Very well." Kingsley leaned back in his chair and joined his hands in front of his mouth, scrutinising Harry.

"I suppose Malfoy will want to be with his parents."

"As a matter of fact," Harry said. "He's already told me he would."

"And?" Kingsley's eyes were fixed on his now. "What about you?"

"I'll go with him," Harry said. "I'm his partner."

"Of course." Kingsley paused, still looking at Harry. "I expected you to." Harry nodded. "May I ask you to keep an eye on Lucius while you're there, Harry?"

Harry frowned. "Why?"

Kingsley sighed. "There's been some… unusual activity over the past weeks in the area and I'd like to make sure he's not involved."

"What kind of unusual activity?"

"Oh, not much. Just—" Kingsley waved his hand in the air. "A couple of meetings between people who have been under the Ministry's surveillance since they left Azkaban."

"Okay," Harry said, standing up. "I'll keep my eyes open."

"Thank you. And Harry?" Kingsley said. "Please be careful."

Harry smiled. "I will."

"Thanks for coming over, Harry."

"You're welcome."

* * *

Harry spent the rest of the morning at St Mungo's, working on Avery's body. He took notes with his Quick-Quote Quill as he talked to the Forensic wizard in charge of the body. Unsurprisingly, he found the same green tinge on Avery's ankle as the one they'd found on Jugson and Crabbe.

When he was finally done at St Mungo's, it was already way past noon so Harry directly went to Weasley's Wizards Wheezes to pick up Ron for their weekly lunch.

Ron was as busy as ever, bent over an impressive pile of parchments as Harry knocked on the open door.

"Hey," he said, dropping the bag holding their sandwiches on Ron's desk as an incentive. "You ready?"

"Fuck, no." Ron grunted, pushing his swivel chair away from his desk with both hands. "I swear all this paperwork is going to drive me crazy."

"What's going on?" Harry said, coming closer and taking a peek over Ron's shoulder. "Anything I can help with?"

Ron snorted. "Unless you have basic knowledge in accounting, then no."

Harry smiled apologetically. "Sorry, mate."

"That's fine." Ron stood. He went to grab his cloak and put it on. "It's just that the bloody stock never corresponds with the right number of items and it's a fucking pain every single month."

"What's the problem?"

Ron sighed. "Well, take the De-Ageing creams, for example." He took out a parchment from under the pile on his desk. "You know that's one of our most famous items in the shop, right?"

Harry nodded. George and Ron had developed a range of creams that allowed the buyers to smooth their features and make them look visibly younger for a few hours. George often bragged to supply the whole Muggle government with those creams but Harry didn't know if it was true.

"Well, on this chart," Ron went on, pointing at the piece of parchment, "It says that we've ordered fifty for the month of April. We sold forty-six of them and yet, the rest has just… vanished."

"Isn't it possible that you've just misplaced them?" Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. "We haven't. We had Frank check them every month ever since he's worked here. They're nowhere. It's not a big number every time, but still."

"And er…" Harry said carefully. "Do you trust Frank? I mean—"

Ron held up his hand. "I do. We've thought about that with George, to be honest, but it wouldn't make much sense. Why would he risk his position for a few pots of cream?"

Harry shrugged. "Black market?"

"Only a handful of them have disappeared," Ron said. "I know I haven't been an Auror for a while, but it doesn't seem to be enough to really make money." Ron took his wand to turn off the lights and they left his office. "What about you?" he asked as they made their way through the shop, in between huge piles of coloured boxes. "How are things?"

"Good," Harry said, in what he hoped was a casual tone. "Good."

Ron paused and caught Harry's elbow. "What is it?"

"Nothing." Harry shrugged.

Ron shook his head. "I know that look on your face. What's going on?"

Harry chuckled. "Nothing important, I swear. It's just that—" He took a breath. "Well, I'm about to spend the next few days at Malfoy Manor."

"You're going to WHAT?"

"Say that louder," said Harry, pushing Ron towards the exit. "I'm sure Hannah in the Leaky hasn't heard you properly."

"But, seriously, mate?" Ron opened the front door and the warm air from Diagon Alley engulfed in the little shop. The weather seemed to have finally caught up with the fact that it was May. "You're really going to move into Malfoy Manor? The place where Hermione was tortured?"

Harry sighed. "I know. You needn't remind me." They made their way through the crowd until they'd reached the Apparition point where a handful of wizards were queueing. "There's no other option. And it's just for a few days, anyway."

"Going to live with your in-laws, well, that's going to be fun." Ron snorted.

Harry rolled his eyes. "They're not my in-laws."

"Well, you're dating their son, so…"

"Yeah, I s'pose."

"Do they know about Malfoy and you?" asked Ron.

Harry kept his eyes in front of him, while the queue moved rapidly. "No."

Ron chuckled. "Definitely going to be interesting, then."

"Shut up," Harry said as finally it was their turn to Apparate away.

* * *

They opened the door of 12, Grimmauld Place to the sounds of Walburga Black's shrieks of _'Filth, stains of dishonour, blood-traitors copulating with Mudbloods, spawning the children of Satan,'_ and some other niceties.

And of course, she wasn't alone. Draco was pacing in front of her, one finger pressed to his pointy chin, his face shut deep in concentration.

"I can't find it, Great-Auntie Wally," Draco whined, their arrival still unnoticed at that point. "And I need to. But it's not in the food, it's not in the potions and draughts, it's no _fucking_ where!"

Mrs Black's shrieks redoubled at Draco's use of the swear word, so Harry shut her down by closing the curtains.

Draco spun on his heels. "Potter?" he said with a reproving look. "Why did you do that?"

"Um, maybe because she was insulting us?"

"In— Insulting— Oh. Hi, Weasley." Draco nodded to Ron and turned back to Harry. "Oh come on, you know it's her way of showing she's happy to see you." He turned to Ron again. "She's very affectionate."

"Sounds more like a vicious old hag to me," muttered Ron.

"We brought you sandwiches," Harry said, wishing to avoid an impassioned speech about Mrs Black's hidden qualities.

Draco took a deep, exaggerated breath and held his hand in front of him. "No."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"No food."

"No. Food."

Draco nodded gravely.

"And why, exactly?" Harry asked.

"I cannot let myself get distracted by pathetic trivialities as long as I haven't found the poison."

"Oh." Harry nodded. "So. No food, then?"

"Absolutely," Draco replied. "And no sex, either."

"Hey!" Harry said indignantly. "Why am I being punished?"

Ron cleared his throat behind them. "Er, remember me?"

"Sorry Ron," Harry said. He turned back to Draco. "But no sex, though."

"I'm sure Weasley is very familiar with the concept," Draco said. "More often than not, I'd say."

"Don't you—" Ron started.

"Right," Harry cut in. "So you haven't found anything?"

"No, I haven't!" Draco said in a dramatic tone, as he led them through the door of his lab, his arms raised to the ceiling. He rounded the table and bent over his cauldron. There were dozens of phials covering a huge part of the table. Draco dimmed the lights with his wand, and closed the heavy curtains. He flicked his wand one last time and a blue light looking as if it were coming from the ground lit him up, giving the whole scene a rather dramatic tone.

"Er," Harry said. "Do you really need the theatrics, right now?"

"Shh, Potter," Draco snapped. "I'm trying to concentrate." He pressed his fingers on each one of his temples and let the vapours from the cauldron drape him in. He closed his eyes.

"What's he doing?" Ron whispered in Harry's ear.

"No idea." Harry walked closer. "Draco."

"What?" Draco opened his eyes again.

"You need a break." He caught one of Draco's hands and shoved the sandwich in his hand. "Eat."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "No."

"Fine." Harry sighed. "We'll be upstairs, if you want to join us."

* * *

"Well, that was…" Ron said as they settled in their usual sofas.

Harry sighed. "I know."

"He's just—"

"Yeah."

"Right." Ron bit in his sandwich and Harry followed suit.

The case was getting frustrating. They'd made great steps forward at the beginning, but since they'd established that the victims had been poisoned, they hadn't made any progress, and more people were dying. Harry had gone through the numerous elements they'd collected on the two different sites, he'd interrogated half a dozen people without success—including Blaise's mum—and Proudfoot had given Harry everything he had on the Avery case this morning.

And still, it was leading nowhere.

The three victims had been poisoned. They all sported the same green tinge by their ankle. If the common factor between Jugson and Crabbe had been Vera Crabbe, she had nothing to do—that they knew of—with Avery, whom she hadn't seen in years. And yet, the three of them were dead.

"Difficult case, huh?" Ron's voice took Harry from his reverie.

Harry realised he'd barely touched his sandwich, but still he discarded it on the coffee table between the two sofas and rested his feet on the edge. "Yeah. It's just… We're missing something, and I can't seem to put my finger on it, and it's— well. Never mind. What about you? Apart from the paperwork, I mean."

A wide grin formed on Ron's face, as he took out his latest invention. "I thought you'd never ask." He handed the blue watch they'd tested the week before to Harry.

He examined it carefully. It didn't look very different from the last time, but the proud look on Ron's face told Harry everything he needed to know. "Is it working now?"

"Beyond my wildest expectations," Ron replied proudly. "I've finally found what was wrong with the transmission and since I've fixed it, it really is incredible. I was able to extend its range of action to several miles."

"Wow," Harry said, genuinely impressed at Ron's skills. "What did Hermione say, then? Have you shown her?"

Another smile illuminated Ron's face, making his freckles stand out even more. "She said she couldn't have done it better," he said with a hint of pride.

"Wow. Coming from Hermione, that says something."

"I know." Ron flicked his wand over his hands and had the crumbs disappear. "Here. You can have them."

"Wait," Harry said. "What?"

"They're for you." Ron shrugged. "And Malfoy I guess."

"Are you serious? I mean, they're your—"

Ron shook his head. "I already have a couple more in production. I made them with you in mind. I want you to have them."

"Thanks, mate." Harry shook his head. "I don't know what to say."

"You're welcome." Ron seemed to hesitate. "I thought it could potentially keep you safe in delicate situations. If they prove useful to the Aurors, then I'll propose them to the DMLE."

"They're amazing, Ron. Honestly."

* * *

Harry pocketed the two watches and they finished eating, speaking of anything and everything before returning downstairs. Draco was still working on his potions, but had thankfully opened the curtains again. His pointy face was more serious than ever as he talked to himself, the way he always did when he tried to figure out something that escaped him.

"It's impossible," he was telling the cauldron. "How could you not be anywhere? I've checked the food, I've checked the medicine, I've checked all the potions, the draughts and still nothing."

"Draco?" Harry said as he came closer.

"What?" Draco spat. "Do not interrupt me unless you can tell me what I've missed."

"Well, it must be somewhere," Harry said.

"Thank you for this ever useful comment, Potter," Draco snapped. "Ever thought of becoming the expert on Stating the Obvious?"

"Oi!" Ron said. After all these years, he still felt like he had to defend Harry's honour. "Don't talk to him like that."

"It's all right," Harry said. "He doesn't mean it."

"Excuse me, but I do," Draco retorted.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right, he means it, then."

"You're dating this guy?" Ron asked, pointing at Draco who was still glaring at his cauldron. "Seriously?"

"Oh, Weasley," Draco said. "Do us all a favour and just shut up."

"Right." Ron turned to Harry. "I've got to go back anyway. Find out what is wrong with those bloody creams."

Harry's heart stopped in his chest. "What did you just say?" he asked in a breath.

Ron scratched his head. "Er, bloody creams?"

"That's it!" Harry yelled as he turned to Draco. "It's neither in the food nor in the potions because it's in a cream, or an unguent of any sort!"

Draco's eyes widened. "But—"

"Think about it," Harry said, coming closer to Draco. "When I collected the samples in Jugson's flat, there were all sorts of creams in the bathroom, and at the time, I didn't think they could be of any use, because we thought the poison had been ingested, but what if it was how it worked? Through their skin?"

"Do you have the samples?" Draco blanched, trepidation obvious in his voice. "Did you take them?"

"Yeah, of course I did. I put them in a separate bag." Harry went straight to the corner of the room where he'd deposited the different pots the very first day Draco had set his lab. "Here."

Harry was so excited as he took the samples out of the bag that his fingers trembled slightly around his wand.

"Merlin," Ron said behind him, reminding Harry of his presence.

Here they were: the various pots and containers from Jugson's bathroom. Harry organised them on the table.

Draco took the one closest to him and examined it. "I can't believe it."

"Let's just analyse them, quick," Harry said, excitement building up inside him.

"Okay." And for once, Draco had no clever repartee to offer.

"Wait a minute," Ron said as Draco unscrewed the lid of the pot; it was the wooden one with the Devil's Snare on it. "How come they would use the same cream? I mean, that doesn't make much sense to me."

A cold sweat ran through Harry's spine, sobering him up instantly. Ron was right. Harry glanced at Draco who had suspended his movement.

"Because," Ron went on. "How could the murderer be sure to get the right target? Unless they want to kill people randomly, which doesn't seem to be the case."

"Shit," Harry said, running his hand through his hair as he started pacing the room. "You're right. It doesn't make any sense. We still haven't found the common factor apart from the fact that they are all Death Eat—" Harry's jaw dropped open. "Oh my God."

"What?" Draco snapped. "Potter, what is it?"

"Oh my fucking God," Harry said again. "I can't believe I haven't thought about it before." Harry started rummaging through through the inside pocket of his robe. He took out the three files from the three different cases, flicked his wand over them to get them back to their normal size.

He took out the pictures from the three bodies. He heard Draco's gasp at the sight of Crabbe's corpse, but didn't pay attention to it.

He spread the three pictures on the table side by side: Jugson's and Avery's on the forensics team's table at St Mungo's, and Crabbe's on his hospital bed.

"Fucking hell," Harry said under his breath.

The pictures. It had been right there all along. And he hadn't noticed it.

It was unforgivable.

"Potter," Draco said, "I swear if you don't—"

"Take off your robe, quick!"

"What?" Draco asked in disbelief.

"Your robe!" Harry said again. But as Draco wasn't moving fast enough, Harry went to untie it himself.

"Hey!" Draco said. "I wasn't joking earlier on, when I said no sex. I know I'm irresistible, but still."

Harry was barely listening to him. He removed Draco's Auror robes from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor and quickly undid the cuffs of Draco's left sleeve. He then rolled the sleeve up, revealing Draco's Dark Mark.

Draco's very _black_ Dark Mark.

"Holy shit," Ron muttered behind them.

"This is how," Harry said, pointing at Draco's Mark. "This is how the murderer does it. I don't know the details, but I'm sure this is how. Draco." Harry turned to him. "Remember when you told me some Death Eaters had tried to get rid of their Mark without much success? What if that's it? What if they buy this cream from someone, thinking it'll make it go forever?"

Draco was speechless. And that was a first.

"Just look," Harry went on. "Look at the pictures. Look at their _Mark_." Harry held the picture of Jugson in front of Draco. "Look closely. It's different from yours. It's faded. Fuck." Harry ran his hand in his hair again. "It was right under our nose the whole time."

"I can't believe it," Draco said.

"We need to warn everyone," Harry replied. "I'll Floo to the Ministry immediately."

Draco nodded. "And I'll analyse those creams while you're away."

"Good."

"We'll meet here afterwards and then go to the Manor together," Draco said again. "I need to make sure they're okay."

"I—" In the heat of the moment, Harry had forgotten about his stay with the Malfoys. "Yes. And we can also ask them about the cream, whether they've heard of anything."

"Okay. And Potter?" Draco walked to Harry and wrapped his arms around him before kissing him. "I can't wait to do all sorts of unspeakable things to you tonight," he said, loud enough for Ron to hear him.

Ron pressed his hands to his ear. "Not listening."

Harry smiled. "I thought we wouldn't be fooling around at your parents's?"

"Well, it's a big house." Draco winked at him. "I'm sure we'll find a way."

"Good." Harry kissed him again. "It should be fun."


	8. Malfoy Manor

**~CHAPTER 8~**

 **Malfoy Manor**

* * *

It was way past six when Draco and Harry reached the gates of the Manor. In the still beautiful albeit pale sunshine of May, with the garden full of blooming flowers spreading their potent scent through the light breeze as they made their way to the front door, it was easy to forget that the most dangerous wizard of the past fifty years had lived for months behind those walls, and that horrible things had happened there.

Harry forced himself to ban the memories from his mind and try to see this only as Draco's home, but it was much harder than he had expected. In the confines of their little office, or in the comfort of Harry's flat, it was easy for him to forget Draco's past: it had been a while, after all, since those dark events had taken place and a lot had happened since then. The world they lived in was different, it was a new era altogether.

And yet, being back here, in the shadow of the imposing and arrogant mansion, Harry could almost hear the cries of pain and the shrieks of evil laughter as Bellatrix Lestrange tortured Hermione and it sent a cold shiver down his spine at the memory.

Draco seemed to sense his uneasiness as he brushed his fingers against Harry's in a soothing motion. "Are you going to be all right?" Draco asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice as his eyes roamed over Harry's face, trying to read the emotions that boiled to the surface of Harry's face.

"I don't know." It was no use hiding the truth; Draco already knew that bringing Harry back here was no innocent gesture, and that of course he could not help thinking of what had happened here. Knowing Draco, he might even fear it reminded Harry of what he had been, of what he no longer was, of all the terrible things he had done all those light-years ago. Harry knew that it played on Draco's insecurities, that despite his constant bragging and showing off, Draco was always afraid his past might come back and bite him in the arse. He knew all that. And that's why he opted for reassurance. "Yes. I think I will."

Relief seemed to flood through Draco as a small smile graced his features. "Good. I promise to try and block every attempt my father will try to kill you."

"Oh, I'm feeling so much better now, thanks."

* * *

The hallway was still lined with portraits, but the atmosphere was lighter somehow. And it wasn't just because the last time Harry had been there had been in very different —and much darker—circumstances, no. There was something else Harry couldn't really place. The house looked more… feminine, in a way, if that meant anything. The imposing statues of the Malfoy ancestors had been replaced by delicate flowers in pastel coloured vases. It gave a definitely more peaceful air to the house.

They were greeted by a house-elf, and Harry felt a pang at the thought of Dobby, who had been the Malfoy's elf years before and who had been mortally wounded here. This house-elf looked young, and wore what appeared to be a rather clean dark red pillow case.

It eyed Harry suspiciously.

"Young master Draco," the house-elf said in a fluttering, high-pitched voice, as it bowed to Draco.

"Minty," Draco said with an air of self-importance that made Harry smile, "This is my partner, Harry Potter."

The house-elf narrowed its eyes and bared its teeth, making no effort to hide its disgust at Harry. He reminded Harry of Kreacher when they had first met him in Grimmauld Place.

"If the young master's partner would follow Minty," the house-elf said again as it took the corridor on their right. "Minty will show him to his room." The elf bowed exaggeratedly at Harry and then added under his breath: "Not that he deserves anything more than a damp cellar and the sole company of rats."

Draco seemed not to have heard that last part, though. "I'll be in my room if you need anything, Potter. Ask Minty. He's a very obliging elf."

Harry looked again at the elf, who was smirking openly at him, and then back at Draco. "Okay."

He followed the house-elf down the corridor on their right. The creature kept glaring at him over his shoulder, muttering all sorts of things that Harry couldn't quite get, but that didn't sound very nice.

After walking for what felt like miles in dimly-lit corridors after dimly-lit corridors, they finally reached the very end of the wing. Minty opened the last door on their right, still blabbering under his breath and looking passably annoyed at Harry's slowness to join him.

The room Harry had been given by the Malfoys was small, and very bare, safe for the single bed and the small desk against the wall. It reminded Harry of a Muggle prison cell—the ones he would see on TV whenever the Dursleys were out. It didn't matter, though. After spending months sleeping in a tent during their seventh year, Harry had found he could rest anywhere.

He took out a small duffel bag from the inside pocket of his Auror robe and let it land with a thud on the bed. He took out his wand to un-Shrink it. As he glanced over his shoulder, he realised that the elf was still standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowed in defiance, as he watched Harry unpack.

"Er," Harry said, waving his hand. "That's okay now, Minty. You can go."

The mouth of the creature twitched at his words, as if he couldn't bear to hear Harry speaking to him. He didn't leave.

Harry sighed. Well, that was going to be fun.

He finished unpacking whatever little clothes he'd taken to spend a couple of days. When he was done, he turned to the elf, still blocking the entrance of Harry's room.

"Could you show me to your young master's quarters, Minty?" said Harry in what he hoped was a pleasant tone. "Please?"

The house-elf let go of the doorknob and retreated into the corridor. Harry closed the door behind him.

It took him five long minutes to realise that the house-elf had no intention of taking him to Draco's quarters. They had gone through numerous corridors, crossed an impressive amount of majestic rooms, but they were no closer to being back to the main hallway.

"Right," Harry said to himself. "I guess I'll have to do it myself, then."

He took the lead, and tried to remember which way they'd taken to arrive there. The house didn't seem to make sense to him, and he wondered fleetingly if it didn't move, or change according to its mood. Was it possible that such an old house was sentient somehow? That it could decide upon trapping an unwanted guest in it?

Harry brushed the ridiculous thought away from his mind as he made his way through the maze of corridors, the elf still on his heels. After a while, Harry's frustration had reached its limit, and he tried to shake off the bloody elf. But no matter how fast he went, or how sneaky he thought he was being, the elf always ended up finding his way back to him.

In the end, Harry decided to break into a sprint. He ran as fast as he could in the corridors, and then abruptly turned right. He flattened himself against the wall, so that the elf wouldn't notice him. He didn't use magic, for he knew that it would give away his position. He saw the elf pass by him without seeing him, and he let out a breath of relief.

He waited for a few seconds to get his breath back, and then pulled himself from the wall. He realised that what he had thought had been a wall at first, was in fact an elegant wooden door that bore the initials L.M carved in a delicate script at eye-level.

Harry took a quick look around, but the house-elf seemed to have disappeared for good. It wouldn't take him long to find Harry again though. Which meant Harry didn't have much time on his hands.

Without thinking further, he tested the wards of the room. It was impressively warded, but nothing Harry couldn't work out. He heard the click in the door and pushed it open.

It was a small, cosy room, with polished hardwood floors and a beautiful, ornate desk by the window. The walls were covered in wooden shelves and held hundreds of books and files of all sorts. The bookcase on the left of the desk held a handful of beautiful—and from the look of them—ancient and pricey vases.

Harry hesitated: Kingsley had asked him to keep an eye on Lucius Malfoy. He had not specified how to do that exactly, but maybe Harry could find clues in there? It wouldn't cost him too much to take a look.

He came closer to the desk that was neatly organised. There was a dragon-hide blotter with a couple of beautiful quills on it, the kind Harry had never seen before. There was a stack of parchments covered in ink. Harry walked closer to take a look at it.

He skimmed through the pile but there was nothing of interest there: mainly accounting charts of various Malfoy properties all over England.

He then checked the books in the nearest shelf. He was about to reach for a thick, red book that looked promising, when he heard the faintest snap of fingers. He looked up and saw one of the ancient vases wobble above him on the shelf, and tip over the edge. He only had time to take a step aside before it crashed loudly to the floor.

Harry spun around just in time to see a touch of red disappear in the doorway.

"You," he muttered between his teeth.

The house-elf had tried to kill him.

Neat.

He cast a quick _Reparo_ on the vase and flew it back to the top shelf, before leaving the room, being extra careful to put the wards back in place. The bloody elf was nowhere in sight.

He walked through the maze of corridors once again, wondering if he'd ever find his way back again, when he ran into someone familiar.

"There you are, Potter!" Draco said, and Harry let out a breath of relief. "What on earth were you doing?"

"I was—" He stopped dead as he saw the elf go out from behind Draco's back. Harry glared at him. "I got lost."

Draco sighed dramatically and put a patronising hand on Harry's shoulder. "Potter." He shook his head. "Potter, Potter, Potter."

"Yes," Harry cut in. "That's my name."

"Sometimes I am amazed at how you manage to go through life as a wizard without knowing the basics of Magic. It is true that you did defeat the Greatest-Wizard-of-the-Past-Fifty-Years with an _Expelliarmus_ , but still. I had hoped that you'd made some progress since then."

"Is there a point to this…" Harry waved his hand in the air.

"Of course, there is. Why in Salazar's name haven't you cast a _Track-Me-Down?_ "

"Oh." Harry scratched his head. Of course. Years after he'd discovered he was a wizard, some things still weren't as natural to him as they were to Draco. "Right. I forgot."

"Well, next time, use your brain. Anyway. Let's go and have dinner. Mother and Father are waiting for us. And you have no idea how my father gets when he doesn't get his food on time."

Harry lifted his eyes to the ceiling and took a deep breath.

* * *

Draco led Harry to a small room—thankfully not the infamous drawing-room they'd been taken to during the war. The room was elegant, with deep purple walls. It was surprisingly cosy and had a warm feel to it, especially with its roaring fire and comfy-looking sofa.

Draco's parents sat at a rectangular table. No matter how much Harry had prepared himself to see them, it was still a shock. Lucius sat at one end of the table, different from when Harry had last seen him, but then, it had been years, and the circumstances had been very different. He looked older, but somehow healthier. His hair had regained its glow, despite the silver strands that almost covered his blond hair now. He looked as haughty and superior as ever, and the look of fright and despair that had marked his features after the war and during the trials was well and truly gone. All in all, he was still very similar to Draco, but Draco's expression being much softer and relaxed these days, it erased much of those similarities, which Harry was very thankful for.

Harry had never liked Lucius, and probably never would, Draco or not. But Lucius' help to find and arrest the remaining Death Eaters when Voldemort died made it somewhat easier for Harry to be in the same room as him. Even if he had no delusions about Lucius' motivations.

Narcissa sat on Lucius' right, dressed in an elegant embroidered pale-blue robe. She looked older as well, but her eyes were bright and piercing as she took Harry in.

Draco and Harry's plates were already set on Lucius's left. As they moved towards the table, a white, furry something ran to them and jumped excitedly all around them.

Harry smiled despite himself and scratched the Crup's head.

"Achilles!" called Narcissa. "Come here."

"Father, Mother," Draco said as he sat on his father's left. Harry sat next to him. "What a pleasure to see you tonight."

Draco kicked Harry under the table. "Er, good evening," he said awkwardly.

"Potter," Lucius said in a condescending tone. "Well, well. If this isn't Shacklebolt's prodigal son himself. How blessed we all are to have the ministry's wonder boy in our house."

Draco beamed at his father's words. "Wonder boy!"

Harry glared at him. "Don't you dare."

"Yes, but _Wonder boy,"_ Draco whispered with glee.

"So, Mr Potter," Narcissa asked politely. "How is it to work with my son?"

Harry had expected many questions from the Malfoys, but certainly not that one.

"It's, er," Harry replied, as Minty the house-elf served them water. Harry fleetingly wondered if it was completely reasonable to share a meal with these people. "He's… well, he's… I mean—"

"Your lack of eloquence will never cease to impress me, Potter," Draco said, a small smile on his face. "Don't bother. I'll do it for you." Draco turned to his mother. "Working with Draco? It's wonderful, of course," he said in an odd voice that was supposed to imitate Harry's. "It is an utter delight. He is so easy to work with, it is almost not fair I get paid for it. It is I who should pay for the pleasure of his company every day."

Despite the tension at being scrutinised by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Harry couldn't help laughing at that. "Er, yeah," he said. "I wouldn't have said it better."

"Of course you wouldn't." Draco beamed and Harry's stomach fluttered at the tenderness in his eyes. "I am the most articulate person you know. Not that this is a feat _per se_."

Harry smiled back at him. "Of course not." He wanted nothing but to brush his fingers on Draco's cheek and kiss him. It was as if they were all alone in the world, the other Malfoys completely forgotten. He pressed his foot against Draco's under the table, in search of the always so comforting contact it provided him.

When he'd found it, he lifted his gaze and saw that Narcissa was watching them, an imperceptible smile on her lips.

Lucius broke the moment. "Ah yes. My son's latest fad. _Working_." He pronounced the last word as if it burnt his tongue. "And for a limp-wristed Ministry at that."

Harry tried not to let his anger grow too quickly in his gut and decided to focus on the first part of the sentence instead. "I thought that was your idea?"

"Oh, it was," Lucius replied. "But I wish he would not satisfy himself with the menial occupation of going after petty criminals and low-class delinquents. He is capable of doing so much more than being a mere civil servant in a ministry that is doing so poorly."

"Father." Draco's tone had cooled down tremendously and his accent was somehow posher now. "We've already talked about it."

"I am telling nothing but the truth, Draco, you know that," Lucius went on haughtily. "The Ministry of Magic is far from being what it should be. However," Lucius added, lifting his chin a little. "I have faith in your abilities to restore it to its former glory."

Harry snorted.

"A problem, Potter?" Lucius asked in a condescending tone. "Maybe you think my son is not up to par with the task I have assigned him?"

"Oh no." Harry smiled and looked directly in Lucius's eyes. "I have total faith in Draco's abilities."

"What is it, then?" Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Pray tell us."

"Well. I s'pose it's no surprise you wouldn't find the ministry's progressive politics to your taste."

"It is not what I call progressive," Lucius drawled. "It is at best obstructive."

"Why?" Harry said. "Because it's finally working in a transparent and incorruptible way?"

"No one is incorruptible, Potter." Lucius sneered. "Not even you."

"Lucius," Narcissa said, her slim fingers closing on her husband's wrist on the table. "Let us change the subject, shall we? You are making our guest uncomfortable." Narcissa planted her eyes in Harry's and he held her gaze.

"Our guest," Lucius spat. "Well, fair enough. Since you are staying in my house and benefiting from my hospitality, there are a few rules that I expect you to follow to the letter."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"First," Lucius went on. "No wandering on the grounds or in this house without my express permission."

"What?" Harry said. "But what if—"

Lucius raised a hand to stop him. "I will have none of that. This will come as no surprise to you that your presence in my house is most unwelcome. I only accepted because my son convinced me of it; I would never have allowed it otherwise. So either you play by my rules, or you do the protecting duties you are so enamoured with elsewhere."

A kick against his ankle had Harry nearly whimper. "Right," he said through clenched teeth.

Lucius had a hateful self-satisfied smile on his face as he lifted his chin. "Second, Minty will accompany you everywhere you go."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't need a chaperon!"

Lucius leaned forward and said in a syrupy tone. "Allow me to disagree."

"Isn't it wonderful how the two of you already get along so brilliantly?" Draco grinned. "Mother, may I have the butter, please?"

Harry sighed. There wasn't much he could do right now, as Lucius enumerated his homemade rules in a monotonous tone. All in all, his rules weren't that extravagant, or even that important to Harry, to be totally honest. If that was the price to pay to be able to be with Draco, then so be it.

So after a while, Harry blocked Lucius's voice from his mind and focused on Minty, the lunatic house-elf who had just started serving the starters.

He served Lucius first, delicately pouring the rather hot soup—from the steam escaping the tureen—his face beaming, as if it were an utmost privilege to serve Malfoy. He then served Narcissa and Draco in the same fashion before turning to Harry.

Harry didn't know if he'd imagined it, but the elf pursed his ugly lips and glared blatantly at him before dropping the bowl brutally in his plate. The warm beverage went overboard and dripped all over the plate underneath.

"Hey!" Harry protested.

"Sorry," the elf muttered, a smug smile on his face that equalled to showing Harry the fingers.

"Mr Potter," Narcissa said as Harry was still glaring at the elf. "Pray tell us more about what happened to Vincent." Despite her words, she sounded only mildly concerned. "It must be so hard on poor Vera. I should probably Floo call her."

Harry felt Draco tense next to him, so he took a breath, and told Narcissa Malfoy as much as he was allowed to.

* * *

"So. It went well," Draco said as they walked through yet another part of the manor. The rest of meal had been mostly okay, if slightly awkward at times. "I can tell Father and you are going to become the best of friends in no time. Isn't it grand?"

The grin on Draco's face was too wide for it not to be at least a little hopeful. Holding his tongue at several points during dinner had been worth it then.

"Yeah, I guess. It can be considered a victory of sorts," Harry said. "Your father hasn't poisoned me."

"Yet," Draco added with a smirk. "This way," he said, taking Harry's hand in his. Harry expected him to let go of it quickly but he didn't. Harry shifted his fingers so that he could have a better hold on Draco. They walked hand in hand, passing the portraits of ancient generations of Malfoy who mumbled their disapproval, but Draco didn't seem to care for one second. They weren't used to holding hands, and it may not have been much, but it felt oddly intimate, to do it here, in Draco's own home.

They turned a corner and took another corridor. The rapidly decreasing light coming through the mullioned windows cast patches of colours on the beautiful Persian carpet. As they reached the middle of the corridor, Harry went to an abrupt stop that had Draco nearly topple back through their still attached hands.

"Are you trying to tear my arm away from the rest of my body, Potter?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. "Although, it would certainly add a rough appeal to my already gorgeous—"

"What about Minty?" Harry cut him in. "What if he's following us around?" Harry squinted his eyes, trying to detect any suspicious movement from the end of the corridor, expecting to see the sneaky elf everywhere.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" Harry waved his hand. "Your father did threaten me to—"

Draco pressed a finger to Harry's mouth and spoke softly. "I cast a Disorientating Charm on the elf so that he wouldn't bother us."

"Oh." Harry let out a deep breath. "Oh. Right. Good."

"Clever, aren't I?" Draco beamed.

"Yeah." Harry squeezed Draco's hand harder as they resumed their walk.

They finally reached Draco's quarters and Harry's breath caught in his throat when the heavy wooden door of Draco's bedroom opened before him.

"Holy shit," he murmured, his eyes widening at the size of the room.

It was immense, there was no other word for it. It could almost hold Harry's flat. That's how big it was.

There was a massive fireplace adorned with wooden pillars covered in beautiful carved figures with a marble shelf on top. The bed—Draco's bed—was a huge four poster that was almost as large as Harry's bathroom. And right by the door, was an elegant wooden desk, with a dark green dragon-hide blotter nailed on top.

Harry's study of Draco's bedroom was cut short when Draco grabbed him by his robe and brought him closer. He kissed him, soft and tender, and Harry closed his eyes, losing himself in the kiss.

The room was quiet, safe from the sound of their kisses. God, it was good to finally be able to kiss, the sense of belonging even stronger in that foreign environment. When they finally pulled back, Draco's cheeks were flushed, the lights from the fire dancing on his face. He really was beautiful, and Harry couldn't help wondering how on earth he'd never noticed it before they'd started working together.

"I'm glad you're here," Draco murmured against Harry's lips. "It feels weird to see you here, but it's nice."

"Mm," Harry said, kissing Draco again. They hadn't had much time to themselves over the past few days, and it was good to finally be able to take a break and just be together, the intricacies of the case pushed far at the back of his head right now.

One of Draco's hand was buried in Harry's hair while the other one snaked up Harry's side. Draco ran his palm over Harry's chest until something had him still his movement at once.

He pulled out, frowning. "What's that?"

"What?" Harry's brain was still very much clouded from the kiss.

Draco patted his hand over the bulge over Harry's chest. "What on earth have you got here?"

"Oh. This?" Harry said as he took out Ron's watches from the inside pocket of his robe. "It's Ron's new prototype. He gave them to us."

"Us?" Draco asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice as Harry handed him one of the two watches. He looked at it attentively, turning it over in his hand.

"Yes. He thought it could be useful to us."

"What does it do?"

"Let me show you." Harry fastened Draco's watch on his wrist and did the same with his own. He then used his wand to cast the spell Ron had taught him. The two watches turned invisible and Harry heard Draco gasp. A small smile formed on his face, like every time Draco was impressed with one of Ron's inventions. Which he would never admit out loud, of course. "Now, try and go in another room."

Draco walked to a door Harry had not noticed at first. It led to Draco's bathroom.

"Now close the door," Harry said, "And look at it."

Draco frowned, his hand on the handle. "How can I look at it? It's invisible."

"Well, look at your wrist, then. It's still there, just invisible."

"Right." Draco disappeared in the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Harry brought the watch closer to his face. "Draco? Can you hear me?"

He waited for Draco to figure things out. "Of course I can hear you. I'm in the next room."

"In the watch, I mean."

"Is that what it's supposed to do?"

"Yes."

"This is a bit ridiculous, don't you think? I mean, why would we need to use it when I'm in the bathroom and you're in the bedroom?"

"I don't know," Harry said, a small grin on his face. "Use your imagination, Malfoy," he added in a suggestive tone.

"Oh." Harry could almost hear the ridiculous smile on Draco's face at the thought. "Oh yes. Definitely. This thing could prove very useful to… oh."

"Indeed." Harry's smile widened. "Wanna try it now?"

"With great—"

Harry didn't hear the rest of the sentence, since the door to Draco's bedroom opened and Minty appeared on the doorstep.

The elf snarled at Harry. "What has Harry Potter done with my young master?"

"Nothing," Harry spat. "He's just in the bathroom."

"Does the young master still have all his limbs in the right place?"

"Everything is perfectly fine, Minty," Draco said as he went out of the bathroom. "What do you want?"

The elf bowed exaggeratedly at Draco. "Minty's master has asked to see the young master."

"What. Now?"

The elf bowed again. "Yes. Minty's master does not like to wait."

"Terrible timing," Draco muttered, before turning to Harry. "Potter, I am afraid you will have to do without me."

"I think I'll cope." Harry smiled.

"Good," Draco said as Minty walked out of the room. He winked at Harry and left.

Harry turned back to face the room. Now that Draco was gone, he had the time to take in all the details he had been unable to before. It was an elegant room, but not overly formal; there was a real warmth, a comfortable, cosy feel to it.

On the wall above Draco's desk were half a dozen pictures of Draco's friends: Crabbe, Goyle and Draco mostly, but also other people Harry didn't know. The pictures seemed to cover many years, and reflected a somewhat happy childhood. Draco and his friends smiled in most of them, and if Harry was now very much used to Draco's relaxed non-sneering face, it was odd to see Crabbe and Goyle with genuine smiles on their face too, waving to the camera.

As he looked closer though, Harry noticed gaps between some pictures, as if there had been more at one point. Those pictures, whatever they were, were gone now, and Harry couldn't help wondering why. Did they picture people Draco didn't want to see on his wall any longer? Had they been ripped from it during a tantrum? Harry brushed his finger over the empty space, a hint of faded magic left by the Sticky Charm lingering on his finger afterwards.

He went to sit on the bed, leaning back on his hands when his eyes fell on Draco's nightstand, a simple wooden piece of furniture made of a niche holding a shelf and a single drawer on top. The drawer was half-open, and somehow looked off-balance, as if it were off its hinges.

Without thinking, Harry tried to push the drawer closed, but he must have done something wrong since instead of closing properly, the drawer fell down in the niche beneath.

"Shit." Harry crouched on the floor and started gathering the papers and little trinkets that had spread all over the hardwood floor.

He froze as something in those papers caught his eye and he recognised them instantly: they were his fan mail, love letters sent by his admirers. The very same Draco took immense pleasure in reading out loud and teasing Harry about in their office.

Harry never really paid attention to the letters—he knew that they were addressed to someone fictional, someone who only existed in people's mind through the prism of his so-called heroic deeds. However, these had something more. Something that hadn't been there when Harry had first saw them. They were annotated. Harry examined the little comments closely, recognising Draco's neat, elegant handwriting in the margin at once. Right next to the woman's compliments to Harry, Draco had added: _Back off, bitch. He's mine._

Harry couldn't help it. He laughed out loud at Draco's words. But there was more: next to the second paragraph that was telling in great details just how utterly brilliant and wonderful Harry was, Draco had written: _I know._ (underlined three times) _Still mine._

The letters weren't all annotated, but most of them were, and something fluttered in Harry's stomach at the thought of Draco going over Harry's fan mail and adding his own comments to them, as if to reassure himself.

Harry rearranged the letters back into a neat stack and tried to fix the drawer, at first without magic, and then with its help. He had no success in his attempts so in the end, he put the drawer back where it had been. It still looked off its hinges, but there wasn't much Harry could do about it so he carefully put the letters back in.

He then collected the few trinkets that had also fallen to the floor, and here again, Harry recognised them: it was a strange little collection of the bizarre gifts Harry received along with his fan mail. Among them was something Harry was very familiar with: Albert, the little golden heart he'd received days ago and that Draco had shagged the daylights off him. It was deprived of any magic now, so Harry took it and turned it in his fingers. It still bore the words of _I heart my Saviour!_

He put the trinkets back into the drawer next to the letters and checked the ground. He thought he'd got everything when he caught a glimpse of a tiny bit of paper that had slid under the bed. He took it in his fingers, and a smile formed on his face, a little bit surprised at the fact Draco had kept it after all these years.

The paper came from Argentina, and more precisely, from the little cantina they'd spent most of the night in after Draco killed Rabastan Lestrange to save Harry.

That night had changed everything in their relationship, and among various apologies from what had happened over the years, had been more serious, deep talks about where they stood in the new wizarding world.

At one point, exhausted by the ordeal they'd been through that day, Harry had stumbled over his words and failed to make his point to Draco. In the end, he'd discreetly and wandlessly summoned a biro from the counter of the little cantina and had scribbled these words on the paper tablecloth that he had torn and given to Draco with a loud: 'There,' that aimed at making his point loud and clear.

Draco had blinked a couple of times as he took the thin paper in hand and read Harry's words, unusually speechless for a moment.

 _I believe in second chances. I believe in you._

Harry traced the uneven contours of the paper and put it back in the drawer with the rest. He then took off his shoes and sat cross-legged on Draco's bed. He froze when a movement on his wrist caught his eye and the watch materialised. Harry blanched; when Minty had showed up five minutes ago to tell Draco he had to go and meet his father, they had completely forgotten to remove the watch. And now, Harry could hear voices from his watch as clearly as if they were in the same room as him.

"Now Draco." Lucius' drawl was very recognisable. "I needed to inform you that your presence is requested here in a week's time."

Harry couldn't see Draco, just hear him through the watch, but he could perfectly imagine the frown forming on his boyfriend's face.

Draco's words confirmed Harry's guess. "Why? What for?"

There was a pause, and Harry held his breath, unconsciously leaning closer to the watch.

"The other day," Lucius started. "You told us about your _preferences._ " The last word had been said with utter disdain.

There was a pause, before Draco said in a cheerful tone. "Oh absolutely. It would please me to no end to have Foie Gras served with a sweet white wine next week. Thanks for asking."

"Draco."

"Sorry, Father. Have I misinterpreted your words?" There was a tension in his voice that hadn't been there a moment before. "Isn't it what you meant about my _preferences?_ "

Harry imagined the look of reprobation on Lucius' face. "Do not play games with me," he said in a cool voice.

Draco sighed heavily. "Fine. What do you want?"

"Well," Lucius said again. "I am quite proud to announce that you shall not have to give up on your inheritance despite this small… _inconvenience_ after all." Draco didn't answer, and Harry wondered if he was as stunned by his father's speech as he himself was. Lucius went on. "I have spoken with the Greengrasses again this week. Let me tell you that it has not been easy after your little stunt from last week." Harry felt the blood leave his face at Lucius' words. "I have had to use every single negotiating skill I thankfully possess to come to an agreement."

"An agreement?" Draco seemed to finally have regained his voice. "But Father—"

"The Greengrasses are willing to make an effort," Lucius cut in, "and let you… pursue your own interests outside wedlock as long as you keep them away from the public eye and preserve their daughter's reputation." Lucius paused. "A fair bargain, I shall say. One we cannot afford to turn down. We associate with a respected pure-blood family, and the Malfoy bloodline can go on."

Harry's heart beat faster as he waited for Draco to answer.

"No," Draco said finally, loud and clear.

The knot in Harry's stomach loosened at once.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no, Father. I won't marry her."

"Draco. Have you forgotten—"

"Dad." There was an impatience in Draco's tone that wasn't there a moment before. "I won't marry her, nor will I marry any witch—pure-blood or not—any time soon."

"Won't you at least consider it?"

"I'm gay," Draco blurted out. "I like cock."

Even at the other end of the manor, Harry was mortified.

It seemed to have shut Lucius up for a moment as well, as it took him a few seconds to reply. "There is no need to be so blunt about it." Harry was surprised at the tone in Lucius's voice, disagreeing, yes, but also strangely patient. He would've thought Lucius to be terribly harsh with his own son, but the exchange he was witnessing gave him a totally different input on Draco and Lucius's relationship. Draco loved his father, there was no doubt about it. And he did matter to his father as well. "All I'm asking you is to marry for the sake of appearances, and once you have an heir, you can do whatever you like."

"That wouldn't be fair."

"Fair? What does fairness have to do with anything? It is an arrangement, Draco! Do you honestly believe that your mother and I even _liked_ each other when we got engaged? Of course not!" Lucius paused. "But that is not the point. I am not asking you to find bliss in your marriage, just to fulfil your duty as the sole heir of this family."

"What if I fall in love?" Draco blurted. "What if I find someone I'm happy with? Would it really be fair to him to be the hidden third wheel while I parade around with my so-called wife?"

"Like I said." Lucius sounded really berating now. "That is not important. You will do whatever you want with whomever you want once you're married and have an heir. End of the story."

"No." And the sound of it, of this simple two-letter word filled Harry with so much hope he felt giddy.

"It doesn't matter what you think, Draco. Your marriage with Astoria Greengrass will be held at Greengrass Manor in August, whether you like it or not."

Harry didn't hear Draco's final answer. He removed the spell on the watch before he could, undid the latch and discarded it on the nightstand. What an impossible choice for Draco. After everything his father had done to him, after all he's pressured him into doing, he still tried to use his son as a mere puppet to fix the mess he'd put his family into.

He felt nauseous, the thought of Lucius Malfoy making him want to find him and curse him until he couldn't speak anymore. But of course he wouldn't, because Draco would never allow it. And Draco was a big boy, he could take care of himself.

Still, Harry thought as he brought his legs closer to his chest on Draco's bed, he wished Draco could have a break from his past and start fully live for himself.


	9. Complications

**~CHAPTER 9~**

 **Complications**

* * *

It didn't take more than five minutes for Draco to open the door to his room again.

When he did, the look on his face was complex, a mix of disgust and determination. He took in the sight of Harry, sitting stockinged feet on his bed and his eyes softened a fraction before they fell on the watch on the nightstand.

"You heard it," he said flatly. "You heard it all."

Harry swallowed hard and moved to the edge of the bed, were he sat still, unable to stand for now. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to but—"

"That's okay," Draco said as he turned to close the door behind him. He then leaned against it, his hands in his back as he looked into Harry's eyes again. "I would have done the same."

"Draco…" Harry trailed off, not knowing how to broach the subject.

There was a flick of something indefinable in Draco's eyes before he set into motion. In three long strides, he'd reached the bed and had taken hold of Harry's shoulder, shoving him backwards onto the bed. He then straddled Harry's hips before cupping his cheeks in slightly trembling hands, his warm breath tickling Harry's lips.

"I choose you," he said, brushing his lips against Harry's. "No matter what my father says, I choose you."

Harry barely had time to register Draco's words that Draco pressed his lips against Harry's and Harry welcomed him in his arms. He had not been prepared to the whirlwind of emotions that would take hold of him as they kept kissing on Draco's bed, Draco's fingers curled tight in Harry's tee-shirt, as strong and determined as their kisses were soft and almost shy.

Draco's words had been music to Harry's ears, however, he knew deep inside that it wouldn't be that simple.

When the remotest hint of doubt sparked inside him again, he pulled back and stared in Draco's eyes. "Are you… sure about it? About your choice?" He bit his bottom lip, scrutinising Draco's face. "I mean, I'm very happy about it, obviously, but is it that simple?" he added in a breath.

Draco sighed, resigned, as he brushed his finger on Harry's cheek and said in a softer voice. "I know what I want. I've always…" He sighed again. "Known deep inside. It's always been you, in a way. Not—" he smirked at the look on Harry's face. "No, Potter, I didn't want you like _that_ back then, I was too busy hating you for that but…" His finger stilled before it traced the side of Harry's nose. "It took me a while to know who I was, to know what I wanted and now…" He kissed Harry softly on the lips before pulling back. "I want you. I want this. I want what we have."

"What about all this?" Harry said, gesturing to the room and cursing himself right after for rubbing salt in an open wound. But then, in a for a Knut, in for a Galleon… "Isn't it what you've always wanted? I mean… You don't know what will become of us, after all."

Draco shook his head slowly. "You're incredible. So stupidly selfless. Everything you do, always." His smile faded as he locked a strand of hair behind Harry's ear. "But I love it. I wouldn't be here to talk about it if you'd had as little as an ounce of selflessness in yourself."

"I—" Draco's words took Harry's breath away. They'd never really talked about it, not out in the open at least. How Harry had saved Draco's life that day. A soft smile formed on his lips. "You would've come back for me too," he said. He wouldn't have bet on it one second when it'd happened, when the whisper of the Fiendfyre still tingled on their skin, but now, he knew.

Draco's lips curled up in a mocking smile and he shook his head. "So naïvely blind and believing."

"No. It's not that," Harry snapped at the tone in Draco's voice. He wasn't an innocent little boy, he had done terrible things too, and Draco of all people knew it. "It's not that at all. I trust you." Harry's thumb brushed Draco's pale eyebrow before reaching his temple, rubbing circles on it. "I'm certain of you. I really am."

Draco knit his brows together, and it formed a little cleft, as if he were trying to solve a complex puzzle, before a bright glint resurfaced in his eyes.

 _"_ _Parfois je me demande ce que j'ai fait pour mériter quelqu'un comme toi,"*_ Draco replied in what sounded like French, deep and slightly arousing. Harry didn't have time to ponder what the words meant since Draco crushed his mouth on his, effectively banishing all coherent thoughts in Harry's mind.

Soon the tide of something stronger and more intense made its way through every single nerve of Harry's body. The physical bliss of their embrace was nothing to the feeling of elation that grasped Harry tight and refused to leave.

The slide of Draco's mouth on Harry's was reverent and Harry's breath caught when Draco kissed his way down his jaw, down the soft hollow beneath, pressing his lips to Harry's thrumming pulse.

Draco soon found his way back to Harry's mouth, a glint of something Harry couldn't quite identify passing in his eyes as he took hold of Harry and rolled them over on the bed. Harry let out an inelegant yelp at the move, but quickly recovered as Draco pulled him on top of him. Draco removed a strand of hair from Harry's eyes, his thumb gently tracing his scar as they looked in each other's eyes. It was odd, really, as if Harry really saw Draco for the first time. Saw him entirely, naked in his feelings if not in his clothing yet, baring himself to Harry's view.

Harry's elbows rested on either side of Draco's head and he absentmindedly tangled his fingers in Draco's hair, stroking his scalp gently, wishing to convey the love he felt him, this ridiculously complex man beneath him.

They kissed, warm and wet and strangely cautious, Draco almost shy against Harry. Draco parted his legs and Harry slid snug between them as they kissed again, Draco's need for Harry soon becoming overwhelming. Clothes and glasses were rapidly discarded and disposed of unceremoniously on the floor. They were hungry for each other, revelling in the sensation of skin against skin, Draco's hands shaky on Harry's back. Harry pressed down against Draco's, moaning at the delicious pressure as Draco tilted his hips.

Harry broke the kiss and searched Draco's eyes, not sure what the gesture meant. Draco did it again, slightly more boldly now, and a thrill coursed through Harry's spine at the silent entreaty.

"You…" Harry started, not really knowing how to translate Draco's request into words. "Is that…" He frowned. "You want… ?"

Draco turned his head and closed his eyes. He nodded slowly.

"You— Are you sure?"

"I want—" Draco opened his eyes again and planted them in Harry's, any trace of uncertainty gone. "Yes."

"You—" Harry asked, needing to make sure. "You want me inside you?"

"God, you can be thick sometimes." Draco huffed impatiently. "Yes, Potter. Do you need me to draw it for you?"

Harry chuckled. "I'd really love to see that—"

"Do it. Now." _Before I change my mind_ hung heavy in the air.

"Here?" Harry teased, running a finger along Draco's jawline and down to his collarbone and his chest, as his nipples hardened under his touch.

Draco clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Yes, here. Obviously." He rolled his eyes. "Not in my mother's parlour."

Harry smiled and kissed Draco. They lost themselves in each other again, slowly, carefully, not wanting to rush things. Harry took his time caressing every inch of Draco's soft skin, attuned to his reactions, and every tiny change in the expression on his face. Draco's hands were slightly trembling and something about it, about doing this in this very room made things somehow more intense.

Before things got too heated though, Harry cast a couple of Silencing Charms on the bedroom. He wanted to hear Draco fully, and not having him to restrain himself for fear of being discovered.

Soon, Draco pushed on Harry's shoulders and Harry went down on him, licking his lips before taking Draco in his mouth. They'd done it quite a few times now, but Harry would never tire of Draco's reactions, the way he always pulled his legs up the bed before stretching them again with a low moan. Harry worshipped Draco, taking his time to slowly get him to relax. He licked the length of his cock, the underside of it before taking him fully in his mouth again. He looked up to see Draco completely abandoned, throat exposed, his head thrown back and his hair spilling on the pillow. Harry moaned around Draco, the need to take himself in hand overwhelming, but he pushed the thought away. This was about Draco. All about him. About making him feel good, loved and cared for.

Harry licked his way down the side of Draco's cock again but he didn't stop at the base. He let his tongue gently wander over Draco's sack, revelling in the soft, hairless skin there, and in the little gasps coming from Draco's mouth.

Draco's legs trembled as Harry continued his ministrations, gradually moving further south. He remembered the discussion they'd had with Draco about rimming, and the look of disgust on Draco's face at the time, but it seemed like a very remote memory as Draco let out a string of expletives and spreading his legs wider still.

Harry lifted his head and took a look at Draco's face, so beautifully relaxed, his eyes closed. "Is that okay?"

Draco had a grimace of frustration. "Yes," he hissed. "Of course it is. Don't stop."

Harry smiled at Draco's needy tone. "All right."

He was more than happy to comply, teasing Draco as he ran his tongue on the soft patch of bare skin just above Draco's entrance. He spent quite some time there, pressing his tongue over what he knew was a very sensitive part of the male anatomy.

"Potter, I swear—" Draco panted. "Just go for it— _oh!_ " and Harry smiled when he finally kissed Draco's most intimate part.

Draco's response was overwhelming, as he writhed beneath Harry, his fingers gripped tight in the sheets as he moaned his unrestrained pleasure. Harry was afraid he would come just by licking Draco into submission; it was such an empowering thing to witness, the falling apart of someone like Draco, who could be so uptight and formal and guarded when he wanted to. And to see him like this, undone at Harry's hands and tongue… there were no words.

Draco's cries redoubled when Harry slowly pressed his tongue inside him, chanting his name as Harry fucked him restlessly. It was painful for Harry, his jaw was very stiff, but he didn't care one second, not if this was the result. Harry then pressed a finger against Draco's entrance, his tongue still working him open as he slowly inserted it inside.

Draco's inhalation broke and shattered as he shook his head on the pillows and demanded, "More," in a broken voice.

Harry pressed farther in, still easing his way inside by licking and kissing Draco's skin around his finger. Draco opened his legs wider still, holding them up with a hand under each thigh now, displaying himself shamelessly to Harry as Harry slowly pushed a second finger alongside the first one, curling them up.

"Oh!" Draco shouted.

Harry smiled, lifting his head to look at him. "Good?" he asked smugly but didn't wait for Draco's answer as he closed his lips around Draco's cock and sucked him again, his fingers buried deep inside Draco. He pressed in again.

"What was— Fuck! What— Harry?"

Harry pulled off again. "Let me introduce you to your prostate."

"Bloody hell, very nice to— _oh,_ meet you, Prostate." Draco's breath was ragged with need. "More, Harry. More. Come on!"

Harry complied and Draco's hand flew to his cock, pulling hard on it as Harry fucked him with his fingers.

"Now," Draco said, his breath getting heavier and heavier. "Inside me, now."

"All right," Harry said in a croaked voice, turned on beyond belief as he delicately took his fingers off Draco. He placed a gentle kiss inside Draco's thigh. "It would be easier on your hands and knees."

Draco tensed for a second before relaxing again. "O— Okay."

Draco got on his hands and knees and Harry placed a trembling hand on the small of Draco's back. Harry shifted closer, kissing Draco's arse cheeks as his hand wandered lower. He revelled in the warm weight of Draco's cock in his hand, in the way it pulsed in his palm, but he needed to focus. He pulled back and grabbed his wand, pouring protective lubricant on his hand, taking time to slick his cock, admiring the view.

"Ready?" he asked in a husky voice, his breath short.

"Yes." Draco let his head rest between his arms on the bed. "Come on."

Harry let a soothing hand wander over Draco's bottom and back, stroking himself with the other. "It's going to hurt a little at first, okay? But it gets better, I promise."

"Obviously." Draco snorted, but under the veneer of the joke was a hint of insecurity that had Harry hold his breath.

"Okay."

Harry pressed against Draco's entrance and slowly pushed in. He had no difficulty entering Draco with the amount of preparation he had done earlier but Draco tensed and Harry froze immediately.

"All right?" Harry asked.

Draco exhaled hard, the line of his shoulders tense. "Yes. Yes. Give me just—"

"Of course." Harry waited for Draco to be ready, trying to soothe him by gently caressing the small of his back again, the gesture helping him focus on holding back. His jaw dropped a moment later when he felt Draco push back and slowly, very slowly take him in. Harry didn't dare do anything, fascinated by the sight of his cock being swallowed by Draco's arse.

"Oh," Draco said in a long moan once Harry was fully seated inside him. "Oh, God. Oh." Draco's hand flew to his untouched cock, and he gave it a few strokes.

"You okay?"

"I— yes. It's— God. It's a bit weird but a good kind of weird it's— _Oh._ " He wriggled his hips a little, slowly getting used to the intrusion. "I need to—" he said again. "Don't move. Just for a—" He huffed. "For a moment."

"Fine." Harry closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of being inside Draco's warm body.

After a few seconds, Draco lifted his head up and turned to look at Harry over his shoulder. "Can you— Can you move now?"

Harry chuckled. "I thought you'd never ask."

Draco rested his forearms on the bed again and Harry pulled back. He bit on his bottom lip hard, his whole being focused on Draco, extra careful not to hurt him in any way. He hadn't topped in a while, and doing this with Draco, who was so hot and tight and new to this felt just— It was brilliant.

When he was nearly all the way out, he slowly pushed in again, letting out a long exhale and closing his eyes. He waited another couple of seconds and pulled back again, and soon he was thrusting inside Draco. It was slightly awkward at first when Draco started moving as well, but they soon found their rhythm and rocked together in harmony, Draco whimpering and blabbering his usual sweet nonsense. It was an intense experience, a true communion of their bodies, on a level Harry had never experienced before. They made one, and it was simple and yet so very beautiful.

After a while, though, Harry could tell the position was taking its toll on Draco, the pressure on his arms looking a bit too much.

"Let's—" Harry panted. "Let me change positions."

"Huh?" Draco's head shot up from in between his shoulders.

Harry put a hand to stop Draco from moving and gently pulled out. "Turn around," he said in a husky voice. "It will be less tiring for you."

Draco smirked. "You certainly know how to talk to your men, Potter."

"You have no idea." Harry smiled back.

Soon, the mood changed again. Harry covered Draco's body with his own and kissed him hard as he pushed inside him again. Draco moaned into Harry's mouth, and wrapped his legs around his waist, allowing Harry to take him deeper. Open-mouth kisses showered Harry's collarbone and throat, and Draco's hand curled around his waist before he found Harry's arse and he pushed against it.

At this point, Harry could not have articulated a coherent word if his life had depended on it. He fucked Draco like he'd never fucked anyone, and the world could have crumpled around them that Harry would not have noticed. Draco reached down to stroke himself, and things escalated. Harry's mind shut down, his sensitive body hyper aware of Draco's movements as he pushed inside him over and over again. His hips hammered into Draco, the bed creaking with the force of his thrusts before he stilled and came hard inside Draco.

Draco pressed his mouth to Harry's shoulder and he exhaled three long, low cries as he spilt between their slicked bodies.

Harry slumped over Draco and caught his breath against his neck. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry, holding him tight as they slowly came down.

"Thank you," Draco said, and Harry smiled. It was pretty rare to hear Draco thank anyone for anything.

"Any time." Harry performed a couple of cleansing spells and pulled the covers over them. He then snuggled against Draco's side, relaxed and content, and stupidly happy.

* * *

Harry didn't know what exactly took him out of his slumber, and for a moment, there was nothing but confusion in his clouded mind. This wasn't his bed—too big—and these weren't his sheets—too posh. It took him a second or two to remember where he was. As sparks of consciousness blazed into much clearer thoughts, he realised that the cause of his coming to was lying right next to him.

Harry lifted his head and held out a hand in search of his glasses, but his fingers encountered nothing but the cold, soft surface of Draco's nightstand.

"Is that what you're looking for?" Draco asked next to him as he Conjured a Bluebell Flame in the little glass bowl on his side.

Harry blinked a couple of times, adjusting to the light as Draco slid Harry's glasses on his nose.

"Thanks." Harry readjusted them and took Draco in, in all his naked glory as he sat, his back against the headboard. "Is it morning already?" Harry asked, but a quick glance to the tall window by his side of the bed told him it was still very dark outside.

"No."

"Well," Harry said, pulling the sheets off, shivering under the coldness of the air. "I probably should—"

Draco rested a hand on his arm. "Stay." Harry frowned at the odd tone in his voice. "Just a little longer?"

Harry smiled. "Okay. There's no rush anyway. I doubt your parents will come looking for you in the middle of the night."

"You never know," Draco said in a mysterious tone that had Harry laugh.

Harry mirrored Draco's position, sitting against the headboard as well, his fingers fumbling under the sheets to find Draco's. When he'd found them, he entwined them, running his thumb against the back of Draco's hand.

"Sap." Draco smirked, but the light in his eyes told Harry he appreciated the gesture.

"What's going on?" And Harry's voice sounded loud in the stillness of the night. "What woke you up?"

"I didn't really go to sleep."

"Oh?"

"No." Draco let his head rest against the headboard. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"Are you…" Harry started, unsure on how to broach the subject. "Is this because of your father? Of what he told you earlier?"

"No." Draco sneered. "It's been a while since my father's plans haven't prevented me from sleeping."

"So what is it?"

Draco shrugged and let out a low exhale. "I— I liked it."

Harry's heart jumped in his chest as he looked at Draco, confused. "What? What your father said?"

Draco burst out laughing and opened his eyes. "Oh my God, no! I wasn't talking about that!"

Harry let go of Draco's hand and crossed his arms on his chest. "What were you talking about, then?"

Draco unfolded Harry's arms, a smug grin on his lips that disappeared as he brought his face closer to Harry. "I wasn't talking about that, you idiot." His expression changed again, and Harry dropped his guard, curious as to what could make Draco react like that. "I was talking about what we did. Earlier on. I really…" He pulled back and rested against the headboard again, his eyes on the ceiling now. "I really liked it."

"Oh." God Draco was right. He was an idiot. "I'm glad."

Draco let out a long, heavy sigh. "It's true, then. What I told my dad."

Harry frowned, trying to isolate the part of the conversation Draco was referring too; it was late, he'd just had one of the best shags of his life and—

"I'm definitely gay," Draco said in a soft tone. "And now…" he hesitated. "There's no way back."

Harry put his hand on Draco's arm. "Because you bottomed? Is that what makes you say that?" Draco nodded. "Draco…" Harry reached for Draco's face and stroked his cheek, trying to find the right words as he searched his eyes. He smiled. "Is it important? What it does or doesn't make you?"

Draco pulled back and rubbed his face with his hands. "I don't know," he said, voice muffled by his hands. "It is for some people."

"Fuck people."

Draco smirked. "That's the general idea."

"Shut up. You know what I mean. I don't care about people. I care about you. What do _you_ think?"

A grin formed on Draco's face, the glint in his eyes a sure promise of mischief. "Well, you were gay before me, so I guess that's all right."

Harry chuckled. "A lot of people were gay before me and the world didn't stop turning. Frankly, it doesn't matter one bit. What matters is that you love the person you want to, no matter their gender, the colour of their skin, or the…" Harry trailed off.

"Purity of their blood?" Draco finished.

"Yes." Harry exhaled. "Yes, that too. It doesn't matter, does it?" And Harry hated the slight uncertainty in his own voice.

Draco reached for Harry's hair and removed a lock behind his ear. "No. It doesn't." He kissed Harry, a gentle press of lips on his mouth. "It doesn't matter anymore. Any of it. Although I would draw the line to Hufflepuffs. Because, honestly?"

A bright smile formed on Harry's face as a weight he didn't know he had lifted from his chest. He kissed Draco back, pushing him against the headboard again.

Draco pulled off. "I still haven't seen it, though."

It took a second for Harry to process Draco's words. "What?"

"Your list."

"My— _Oh_." The list. The famous list of Harry's exes. "Is it—" he grabbed Draco's mouth in his again. "Is it really the time to—"

"I think it's the perfect moment for that." Draco shoved Harry back and grabbed his wand. _"Accio List!"_

There was a movement on the floor where the heap of Harry's clothes lay abandoned and a moment later, a folded bit of parchment made its way to Draco's hand. He lifted an eyebrow in a mute demand, and when Harry nodded his assent, he delicately unfolded it, looking both impatient and a bit worried. He grabbed his reading glasses on his nightstand and put them on.

"There aren't that many," were Draco's first words on the subject as his eyes roamed the paper.

"Of course, there aren't. What exactly do you take me for?" Draco made a funny face, so Harry hastily added. "Don't answer that."

"So, that's it?" Draco said again, turning the paper in his hand to make sure there weren't other names on the other side.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You sound disappointed."

"I am," Draco replied. "I mean, that's the list of the people the Saviour of the Wizarding World has slept with? Seven people, including me?"

"Well, you can talk." Harry bit his lips as soon as the words left his mouth. He knew how important the subject was to Draco.

Fortunately, Draco didn't seem to mind. "This isn't about me. Anyway." He turned his attention back to the paper. "Let's see. So, Ginevra." He wrinkled his nose. "Well, I guess that was unavoidable." Harry chuckled and Draco went on. "Thomas?" He raised an eyebrow.

"The Muggle bloke I told you about when we were in Yorkshire," Harry said. "The one I met at the club."

"Oh, right. The one who bedded you despite your terrible dancing skills."

Harry narrowed his eyes. " _You_ bedded me despite my terrible dancing skills."

"Fair point." Draco smiled. "Anyway, let's move on." He frowned as he read the third name on the list. "Charlie?"

Harry cleared his throat, looking away. "Er, yes. Charlie."

"Who was he? Someone you met—"

"Charlie Weasley." Harry felt himself blush. "Ron and Ginny's big brother."

Draco nearly choked on his tongue at Harry's words. "Excuse me? You shagged _another_ Weasley?" Harry nodded and Draco's eyes widened. "I mean, one is already bad enough, but two? Is this some kind of kink? Do I have to dye my hair ginger?" Disgust curled up his mouth at the thought. "Not that I would, Merlin forbid I looked like them. But seriously, Potter? You shagged two Weasleys?" Before Harry could answer, Draco went back to the list. "Oh please tell me there aren't any more. Because how many children do these people have?"

Harry silenced Draco in the most adult way possible, by pressing his hand over his mouth. "Stop it. You don't get to insult them. They're the closest thing I have to a family."

"Wait. You shag your family?" Draco said bewildered, a look of horror on his face. "And to say you accuse us of inbreeding!"

"Argh, this wasn't what I meant. God, you're just—"

"I know." Draco smiled. "But still, _two_ Weasleys?"

"Well, for your information, Charlie's pretty handsome. And fit. And older _._ "

Draco pressed his hands on his ears. "Stop. No more."

"I thought you wanted to know everything?"

"I can't hear you," Draco said loudly and for the second time that night, Harry was glad he'd put strong Silencing Charms on the room.

He moved his face closer to Draco's, chuckling as Draco closed his eyes. "It was wild between Charlie and I," he said, giddy at the reactions his words elicited in Draco. "A summer of firsts for me: first blow job, first time bottoming, first time I got—"

"Stop!" Draco said, pushing Harry hard on his back and straddling him, holding Harry's hands tight on the bed on either side of his head. "No more. I get it."

Harry gave Draco what he thought was his evilest grin and thrust his hips up against Draco's.

"You do realise this dubious tactic won't work with me?"

"Really?" Harry said, tilting his hips up again.

Draco narrowed his eyes in defiance and added more pressure on Harry's wrists and he searched Harry's eyes. His face changed from annoyance to doubt and uncertainty in a second. "You loved him," he said dryly.

It wasn't a question. And they weren't playing anymore.

"I…"

Draco's tone was accusatory. "You did."

Harry did his best to convey all the reassurance he could to Draco. He wouldn't lie to him, but he wouldn't hurt him unnecessarily either. "No, I—"

Draco huffed. "You had a major crush on him."

"I— yes, I did but—"

"You wish you two hadn't broken up." The grip on Harry's wrists loosened as Draco sat on his haunches, releasing Harry. He looked… lost, and Harry cursed himself for the lack of subtlety in the expression of his feelings. Even if he wasn't naïve enough not to see right through Draco's manipulating skills here.

"No, it's not—" Harry said. "It's all in the past now. I was pretty taken with him, yeah, definitely, but that's— I mean, nothing could have ever happened between me and Charlie, nothing long term anyway." He was blabbering now. "He's much older than me, and he lives so far away and we're too different… We wouldn't be good together. Yeah, it was good and fun for a summer fling, but there's— there was no future in this. It doesn't stop me from still having—"

"Feelings?"

" _Affection_ for him," Harry corrected. "He'll always be important to me. But I don't love him. Not like I—" He stopped dead.

"Not like you what?" Draco asked in a breath. "Not like you WHAT?"

Harry felt his cheeks burn at once. "Not like I…"

"Not. Like. You." Draco exhaled. "What?"

Harry shook his head. "God, you're impossible."

"Old news." Draco waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Focus, Potter. Not like you what?"

It was so easy to tease Draco now, and Harry certainly wouldn't miss an opportunity to rile him up. "You're a pain in the arse."

"Do you mean that literally?"

Harry chuckled. "You're difficult. You're mean to me, you're mean to my friends, you take great pleasure bossing me around and making fun of me and yet—"

"Yet what?"

"I like you." Harry shrugged. "I like being with you."

Draco looked disappointed. "Of course you do. How couldn't you?" How those times when their interactions were filled with spite and hatred and incomprehension seemed far right now. "It's time you admit it, though. You don't only _like_ me."

Harry smiled, flirtatious. "Don't I, now?"

Draco leaned forward and whispered against Harry's mouth. "You luuuurve me."

Harry raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Really?"

"Well, you certainly don't hate me. Not anymore, at least. Hopefully."

Harry moved closer and licked Draco's lips in what he hoped was a seductive manner. "You sure about that?"

"Oh _please_. You don't hate me."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me but I do." He grabbed Draco's head with both hands, Draco nearly toppling over in the process. Harry didn't care and kissed him, sound and hard. "I hate you," he murmured in between kisses. "Very much so."

"I—" Draco started but Harry silenced him with another series of open-mouthed kisses Draco eagerly returned, their hands wandering hungrily on the soft planes of their body.

Harry pulled back, smiling again. "Finally."

"What?"

"I've found a way to shut you up."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Well, you did tell me you hated me, which doesn't make sense, even for you."

"Well, it's common knowledge." Harry brought his hand to his face and examined his nails. "I hate you. Always have."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"And I still do. Hate you. I hate you more than I've ever hated anyone," Harry whispered against Draco's lips. "God, how I hate you." He closed his eyes, losing himself into the soft kiss.

"Good. Good." Draco caught Harry's face in his hands and pressed his lips to Harry's mouth. "I hate you too," he said between kisses.

"I must be mad," Harry murmured against Draco's lips.

"Not must." The air was heavy with the sexual tension between them. "You _are_ mad."

"To be with you, yeah, certainly." Harry kissed him again, pressing his whole body against Draco. "Fuck, I hate you," he whispered against his lips.

"Mmm. The feeling's mutual."

"It's crazy how someone who irritates me the way you do, and boy, you do, someone who pisses me off the way you constantly do can also—"

"Shut up and fuck me, Potter."

Harry smiled. "Again?"

Draco nodded. "Show me just how much you hate me."

"Oh, trust me, I will."

And somehow, that was much easier than to cast an unknown curse at random.

* * *

There was a click somewhere on Harry's left, and it was enough to jerk him off his slumber. He was disorientated for a second as his eyes fell on the artful sprawl of Draco's body, peacefully sleeping on his stomach, one arm under his pillow, his mouth barely open, and his regular breathing almost making Harry forget why he'd awakened in the first place.

A blurred movement by the door caught his attention, and it came back to him, terrifyingly clear.

The click.

He grabbed his glasses and put them on, lifting his head towards the door; If he'd been standing, he would've fallen in shock.

There, on the doorstep of Draco's bedroom stood a very recognisable blonde witch. The blood in Harry's veins rushed up to his face as he sat, pulling the sheets up in a desperate attempt to cover his nakedness. He nudged Draco's side under the covers, in what he hoped was a discreet movement.

"Oh, you will not have any luck waking my son, Mr Potter," Narcissa said in a cool, level voice as if stumbling on Harry in her son's bed was a common occurrence. Right on cue, Draco let out a soft snore before his breathing fell into a regular rhythm again. "He is a very heavy sleeper. But you probably already know that."

Harry cleared his voice, hoping against hope that Draco would wake up. As it didn't work, Harry kicked him in the shin, and this time, Draco stirred and said, his voice slurred with sleep. "What's your problem, Potter, exactly? Don't you know I need my beauty sleep? Especially after the activities of the night."

Harry was mortified. "Your—" he whispered in a raspy voice. "Your mother."

"What about her?" Draco growled against the pillow.

Harry looked up at Narcissa who was still at the door, her hand on the doorknob, and he smiled at her in what he hoped was apologetic enough.

She didn't smile back.

"She's, er," Harry started as Narcissa let go of the handle and crossed her arms. Harry kicked Draco again. "She's here. Your mother. In the—" He cleared his throat again, discomfort making the sweat prickle in the back of his neck. "Draco," Harry said again through clenched teeth. "Your mother is right here in your bedroom." That had Draco lift one of his eyelids.

Harry had expected Draco to finally come to his senses, but against all odds, he yawned loudly and closed his eyes again. "Well, she's my mother. And that's her home after all." He wrapped an arm around Harry's waist. "Mother, could you please leave? You're making Harry uncomfortable."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. Had Draco gone completely mad? "Mrs Malfoy…" Harry trailed off, his eyes pleading.

"Mr Potter." Narcissa finally said. "I suggest you go back to your room before my husband finds you here himself." Harry swallowed hard at the prospect of Lucius Malfoy catching him in his son's bed. "As for you, Draco, I expect you to be washed and dressed in half an hour. We will all have breakfast together."

"Fine, Mother." Draco waved his hand in a dismissing gesture, not bothering to open his eyes. "Now please leave."

Narcissa sighed and left, closing the door behind her.

"What the hell was that all about?" Harry yelled, jumping out of bed as he hastily retrieved his clothes on the floor.

Draco pressed the heel of his hand over his ear. "Could you please stop shouting? It's too early in the morning for that."

"But, but— Your mother!" Harry couldn't believe how detached Draco was about the whole thing. He found his boxers crumpled in his jeans and put them on. "She knows. She knows about us. God, I'm sorry," Harry said again as he ran a hand in his hair, before he picked up his jeans and put them on as well. "I'm so sorry I fell asleep, I should've gone back to my room, I should've—" Harry's lips kept moving but it took him a couple of seconds to realise no sound was leaving his mouth anymore. He glanced at Draco who still had his eyes closed, but now held his wand in his hand, a smug smile on his face. The bastard had dared cast a Silencing spell on him.

"Sorry, but you weren't going to shut up." Draco opened his eyes. "Although this could be interesting."

Harry tried to convey with various gestures what exactly he thought of Draco's way of shutting him up, but he failed miserably. He sighed, and finished dressing again.

"Stop getting your knickers in a twist. I'm sure Mother already knew about us."

Harry's eyes widened in shock. "She did?" he heard himself say at the same time Draco said, _"Finite!"_

"But how?"

Draco sat on the bed and traced an invisible pattern on the sheets. He shrugged. "She knows me."

"Oh."

"She's right though." Draco looked up. "If Father finds you here, there's no telling what he might do."

"Okay," Harry said, raking his hair again with his fingers, trying to tame it a little. No such luck, of course. "Right. I'll meet you downstairs, then, I guess?"

"Yes." Draco got out of bed and rested his hands on Harry's waist before he kissed him. "Hmm. Go and take a shower. You smell like sex. Not that it's a completely uninteresting concept but…"

"Yeah." Harry wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him as well. "Not the best idea right now."

"No." Draco smiled. "Now, go."

* * *

Half an hour later, Harry had showered and put clean clothes on. He found Draco in the small dining-room where they'd all had dinner the night before, and was thrilled to notice that Lucius and Narcissa had yet to make an appearance.

Draco sat at the table —set with an elegant white china over a patterned white and blue tablecloth— scribbling things on a piece of parchment with the blue quill Harry had offered him last Christmas, his wand neatly aligned with the cutlery next to him. Harry remained on the doorstep for a moment, admiring Draco's lithe figure as he frowned in concentration behind his reading glasses.

Draco's sneeze took Harry by surprise as much as Draco, who dropped his quill on the carpet in the process.

"Shit." Draco scowled as he made to retrieve it before reconsidering and sitting back up.

Harry held his breath; Draco looked determinedly at his quill on the floor, and he said in a loud, clear voice. _"Accio Quill."_

A tremor shook the quill and it raised a couple of inches up in the air by Draco's legs, before it fell to the floor again. Draco sighed as he bent to pick up the quill from the carpet and resumed his writing.

Harry knocked on the open glass-panelled door and joined him at the table. "Hey. Already working?"

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Draco said without looking at him. He shook his head. "There's something I don't get."

Harry pulled the heavy chair back and sat, taking a look at what Draco had written so far. It was a table in which Draco had gathered the results of the various testings of the creams and unguents he had done. Their names, container and what was written on the label was listed in the first three columns where the last ones held the results Draco had found.

"So, you see: I'm almost done with the samples from Jugson's flat, and still I found nothing."

"There were a couple of empty pots, though. Did you manage to get anything from them?"

Draco shook his head. "No. There was not enough product left inside for it to be relevant."

"Right. What about Crabbe's and Avery's? Any luck from their samples?"

"Well, I still have to go through them, starting with the ones they had in common with Jugson."

Harry nodded.

"I'll go and spend the day in the lab today." He looked at Harry. "Will you be all right on your own here?"

"Oh, of course." Harry sneered. "Your dad and I are that close to becoming BFFs."

Draco smiled. "I don't doubt it."

"In the meantime, there's something I'd like to explore. The connection between the three men."

"You think they haven't been targeted at random?"

Harry pushed his glasses back up on his nose. "I don't know. But so far we haven't really looked in this direction. What if they had a common point?"

"Apart from being Death Eaters, you mean?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "What if the murderer was somehow tied to them?"

"It makes sense." Draco nodded. "So, you take care of the victims and the eventual link they might have and I take care of the creams."

"Potter," Lucius drawled as he entered the room, walking regally to his chair with the help of his cane, Narcissa right behind him, Achilles, the little dog, on her heels. "Draco."

Draco discarded his documents and quill in the inside pocket of his red robe before he stood to greet his parents. Harry did the same, although he had a really hard time looking Narcissa in the eyes.

Minty soon appeared with a couple of plates in his hands, and a couple more floating behind him as he walked. He first served Lucius, then Narcissa, and seemed to hesitate between the two plates left. Harry caught him raising an eyebrow at Lucius who nodded imperceptibly.

The elf disposed Draco's plate delicately in front of him and smirked at Harry when he did the same in front of him.

"Oh! You've got black pudding!" Draco exclaimed as he looked at Harry's plate with envy. "How come he has black pudding and I don't?" he pouted.

Lucius had a small smile. "Well, it must be a mis—" Lucius froze as Draco used his fork to steal the black pudding from Harry's plate. "Draco, no!"

It all happened in a few seconds: Lucius snatched Harry's plate from Draco's grasp and threw it violently onto the floor. Achilles darted from under the table, threw himself at it and immediately started eating.

"Achilles!" Lucius shouted, a look of horror on his face. "Achilles, stop!" The dog wasn't paying attention, too busy feasting on Harry's breakfast to stop. "Minty, do something!"

The elf jumped on the Crup, wrapping his whole body around him and trying to stop him from finishing the plate. To no avail. The plate was clean in a wink, and Achilles shrugged Minty off, sitting up as he licked his lips, his tail wagging happily behind him.

Harry didn't think the situation could get any more surreal than it already was, and yet, he was about to be proved wrong.

The next moment, the elegant Crup froze as if he'd been Petrified and slowly, inexorably fell on his side.

"Achilles!" Narcissa shouted as she ran for him and knelt next to him on the floor. "Lucius!" She cast an accusing look at her husband who blanched, his eyes widening in horror. "What have you done to him?"

Draco observed the scene, his mouth opened in surprise. "Father?" he asked.

Everyone turned to the patriarch at once, and for the second time in his life, Harry saw panic in Lucius's eyes.

"I—" he opened his mouth and closed it again. "I—"

"DO SOMETHING!" Narcissa shrieked, still stroking her Crup feverishly.

Her cries prompted Lucius to act and in an instant, he fumbled into the inside pocket of his robe and took out a phial containing a silvery liquid. He ignored the gasp of surprise of his son and knelt next to Narcissa.

"Keep his mouth open, quick!" Lucius ordered and Narcissa complied. Lucius uncorked the phial with dexterous fingers and poured the content into Achilles's mouth, before shutting it and holding it in place.

Everyone in the room held their breath, and after what felt like hours, the faintest of movement in the little dog's paws transformed in an overall shaking of his body that lasted a few seconds before he opened his eyes again.

"Oh, thank Salazar!" Narcissa said, taking Achilles delicately in her arms and stroking him as Lucius sat right there, on the floor.

Soon, Achilles was able to walk again, and it was as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened as he followed Narcissa back to her chair, his tail waggling before he curled up at her feet.

Lucius stood, avoiding Draco's eyes as he sat back to the table as well.

"What the hell just happened here? Father?" Draco said after a deafening silence. "Care to explain why the plate destined to Harry nearly killed the dog?"

Harry's heart slammed against his chest as he waited for Lucius to explain himself. The bastard had tried to kill him. Or at least, knock him out.

"He didn't die," Lucius said in an unstable voice.

"Because you gave him an antidote! He would have died otherwise!"

Lucius clicked his tongue in annoyance. "No need to be so dramatic, Draco," he spat. "I would not have _killed_ Potter, no matter how much I'd want to."

"Of course you wouldn't have killed me," Harry muttered under his breath. "You only meant to maim or seriously injure me."

Lucius lifted an eyebrow. "Prove it." He seemed to have completely recovered from what had just happened and was smug as ever.

Harry felt his whole body tense with anger. There was nothing he could prove, and Lucius knew it.

"But why did you do that, Father?" Draco said in a high-pitched voice.

"Well." Lucius bared his teeth. "That is the price to pay for breaking in my study without my express permission."

Harry whitened significantly and swallowed hard. He opened his mouth to speak, but Draco beat him to it.

"Don't be ridiculous, Father. Harry would never do anything like that." He turned to Harry. "Especially not behind my back." He looked back at his father. "Times have changed, Father."

Lucius tilted his chin in the direction of Harry. "So sure of him, aren't you? Well, Draco, why don't you ask him yourself?"

"I'm telling you, Father, you are having hall…" Draco stopped mid-sentence as he took in the guilty look on Harry's face. He looked confused for a short while, and it broke Harry's heart to see Draco's trust in him about to shatter to pieces. "Wait. You didn't, did you?"

"I— er…"

"Harry?" The look in Draco's eyes was slowly going from incredulous to disappointed.

"Of course he did." Lucius said with a snarl. "How ridiculously trustful can you be, Draco?" He was apparently very happy to be proved right. "He had not been in our home for an hour that already he was sticking his nose in my affairs. Thankfully I have a very loyal elf."

Draco didn't seem to be listening to his father anymore. He turned to Harry. "But why? Why did you do that?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I'll explain it all to you, I sw—"

"Now." Draco cut in sharply. "I want to know now."

"I can't." Harry shook his head. There was no way he would share the conversation he'd had with Kingsley with Lucius and Narcissa in the same room. "Not here."

"Okay, then." Draco stood. "Let's go." He dropped his napkin on the table. "I'm not hungry anymore." And Harry didn't know who Draco was the angriest with: his father for trying to kill Harry, or Harry for hiding the fact he'd searched his father's study.

He tailed along Draco, who didn't say a word all the way to his bedroom. Too soon, Draco pushed the door open and let Harry in. He'd barely shut it behind him that he turned to face him, his arms folded across his chest.

"Care to explain?" Draco bit out, his feet braced and his brow drawn into a scowl.

"I—" Harry closed his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Oh yes." Draco growled, a snarl on his face that reminded Harry of their school days. "You can be very sorry, indeed." His cheeks were a dark pink and he cocked his head, his eyes sharp. "Why haven't you told me?"

"Because…" Harry lifted his arms by his sides and let them fall down in surrender. "He's your father, and I thought you wouldn't appreci—"

"But I'm your partner!" Draco yelled in Harry's face. "You're supposed to tell me those things! If you are on a mission, I want to know! Even if it involves my father. _Especially_ if it involves my father!"

"I know." Harry took a step back and cuffed a hand in his hair. "And I'm really, truly, deeply sorry about it."

"You know what?" Draco shook his head, the scowl deepening on his face as his eyes grew flat and shuttered. The words coming out from Draco's mouth next sent a cold shiver down Harry's spine. "I'm not so sure about it."

"What?" he asked, unable to refrain a gulp at the look of cold fury on Draco's face. "Why?"

Draco moved closer to Harry, entering his personal space at once. "Because you're just like the others in the end. You don't trust us." Draco's words were like sharp needles. "Never have, and never will."

"It's not—"

"And to think I didn't believe my father at first," Draco went on, articulating each word carefully. "When he said you'd broken in his study. I _wouldn't_ believe him. Of course not, Harry would never do that, not behind my back. But you did."

Harry remained silent, frozen in place by Draco's words, his shoulders hunched, feeling tense and miserable.

"I can't believe I have been such a fool to believe even for one second that things had changed," Draco hissed.

He turned to leave, but Harry grabbed his arm. "Wait! Draco!"

"What?" Draco growled in Harry's face, his grey eyes alight with a dangerous glint.

"It's not— I trust you, I really do. It's your father I don't trust. For fuck's sake, he's just tried to killed me!"

"Oh, come on." Draco rolled his eyes. "If he'd really wanted to kill you, believe me, you'd be dead by now. But it doesn't matter, does it?" He closed his fingers around Harry's wrist and held it tight. "No. It's always the same," he said in a cool, detached tone. "The same grandiloquent speeches about peace and unity, and in the end, you treat us all differently."

"What? You're not making any sense!"

"Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, isn't it?" Draco snarled. "No matter what we do, no matter what we say, no matter how we act, we will always be the same meaningless parasites the wizarding world wants to get rid of."

Harry glared at Draco. "It's not like that, and you know it."

"Do I, now? And what proof have I got of the contrary?" Draco pulled back and let go of Harry's wrist. He narrowed his eyes as something seemed to dawn on him. "Who sent you by the way? Was it Smith? Who asked you to spy on my father?"

"It wasn't—"

"I thought you were different." Draco's eyes roamed over Harry's face. "All this time, I thought you were a good person. But you know what? Fuck you," he spat. "Go back to the Ministry and follow Robards and Smith in their witch hunt because in the end, you are no better than the rest of them. At least they have the honesty to share their distaste for us publicly, which cannot be said of everyone."

Harry was too stunned to retort anything.

Draco let go of Harry's wrist and stormed out of the room in a flurry of satin robes.


	10. Gone

**~CHAPTER 10~**

 **Gone**

* * *

Harry had a hard time breathing as icy emptiness brimmed over in his chest and a heavy weight settled in his stomach. What on earth had just happened? After the night they'd spent together, full of promises and brilliant perspectives for the future, everything had crumpled in an instant around something that was at best a massive misunderstanding.

He was rooted into place, his eyes roaming Draco's room as he pondered on the next thing to do. Draco's words had hurt, opening wounds that had never really closed after the war. Everything Draco had said, Harry wished they were wrong, but they weren't. Draco was right: nobody really trusted former Death Eaters or suspected Voldemort sympathisers. And for good reason.

But Draco wasn't his father. Draco hadn't been able to kill Dumbledore, he had never found joy in torturing other people, whereas Lucius… Lucius was a whole different story. And even if the man was the father of the person Harry was in love with, Harry would never be able to trust him.

But that didn't mean he didn't trust Draco. Because he did. He'd trust him with his life.

He let out a low sigh and closed his eyes briefly.

Going after Draco wouldn't do anything: Draco was far too angry with him to listen to whatever explanation Harry had for him. He knew Draco enough to know not to push him. No. There would be no point in running after him. That left Harry with two options: staying here at the manor to fulfil his duty and protect Lucius, or going back to his office and try to find a link between the three victims.

After what had happened over breakfast, Harry didn't feel enthusiastic at the idea of staying a moment longer at the Manor. On top of that, it would be much easier for him to find information in the archives room of the Ministry rather than having to wait for someone to send him documents via owl.

In the end, the decision was easy to make. He went back to his room using the Track-Me-Down spell, focusing all his energy on the case, pushing all thoughts of Draco away for now.

He stuffed what little clothing he had brought with him in his duffel bag and put it on his shoulder, not even bothering to Shrink it. He closed the door to the small room he had not even slept in and walked through the dark corridors. He was almost at the front door when a familiar voice called after him.

"Are you already leaving us, Mr Potter?" Narcissa asked in a soft voice.

Harry turned around to face her, her blue eyes piercing as she scrutinised Harry.

"I, er…" Harry started, unsure of what to say. He scratched his head. "Yes."

She tilted her head slightly to the side and looked deep in his eyes. "My son has a strong personality, and he can be stubborn at times," she said. "But his tantrums are often short-lived and he knows how to listen."

"Thanks, Mrs Malfoy. I'll…" Harry pulled his bag back up on his shoulder. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Please." She put a surprisingly warm hand on his arm. "I believe the two of you are good to each other. Please give my son time. Do not give up on him just yet."

Harry nodded. "I won't. I'll do my best, I promise."

"Good." There was a ghost of a smile on her lips as she kept her eyes fixated in his before she let go of him.

"Do you…" Harry hesitated, shuffling his feet. "Do you know where he's gone?"

"He doesn't wish me to tell you."

"Okay," Harry said in a breath, a stab of something painful coiling in his gut at the thought.

"However." Harry lifted his head and hated the spark of hope that rose inside him at the word. "I showed him something that seemed to be of great interest to him regarding the case you two are currently working on."

Harry's curiosity was piqued as he let go of his bag. It fell to the floor with a soft thud. "What is it?"

"A few days ago, Vera gave me a pot of cream, telling me it had properties my husband might find of interest." Harry's heart beat faster at her words. "When I handed it to my son earlier, he looked beyond himself with excitement and asked me if he could bring it back to what he calls his 'lab,' whatever that is."

"Mrs Malfoy," Harry said, trying to tame the surge of excitement that rose from his stomach and made his voice tremble a little. "What did the container of the cream look like?"

"Oh, it is a rather simple design. Just a wooden round pot with the picture of a Devil's Snare on it."

Harry's heart thrummed so hard in his chest he was sure Narcissa could hear it. "Do you know where Mrs Crabbe got it?"

Narcissa shook her head. "I am afraid I do not have this information."

"That's okay," Harry said hastily, curling his fingers around the handle of his bag again, and lifted it to his shoulder. "Thank you for your help, it is very precious."

"You are most welcome, Mr Potter." She turned back from where she'd come, but paused at the corner of the corridor, resting a delicate hand on the wall. She turned to look at Harry one more time. "And please remember what I told you about my son."

"I will."

She smiled at him one last time and then she was gone.

* * *

Change of plans, then. Harry would first go to Grimmauld Place, hoping against hope that Draco would be willing to put their fight aside to focus on the case.

Harry went through the gates of Malfoy manor without difficulty, silently thanking Narcissa for letting him out. The new information she'd just given him was changing the game.

The poison was in the Devil's Snare pot, Harry was now sure of it. Draco hadn't been able to analyse the contents of the one they'd found at Jugson's because it had been empty, but now, they had a very fresh lead. Harry's trepidation was huge as he entered the dark hallway of Grimmauld Place, not even paying attention to Mrs Black when she yelled her welcome at him.

He rushed to Draco's lab, but disappointment soared through him at Draco's absence from the room. Harry raised his wand and whispered an unconvinced _"Homenium Revelio,"_ but nothing happened. The house was empty.

Harry had missed Draco, but not by long. Thick steam still emanated from the pewter cauldron at the other end of the table, and right next to it was the wooden pot with the cream in it. Harry unscrewed the lid and brought it to his nose absentmindedly. The smell of the cream, much more potent now than when Harry had smelt it from the empty pot, once again rushed through his nostrils. He knew that scent, he was sure of it. He'd smelt it somewhere. But where?

He put the pot back onto the table, and his eyes stopped on a piece of parchment resting on an open book. Draco's scribble was hasty, and in some places, the ink hadn't even had time to dry up. Draco had left mere moments before Harry had arrived.

Harry's heartbeat increased ten-fold as he read the words Draco had written:

 ** _Lethal ingredient: Indijin Ants venom._** And right next to it, underlined three times: **_Ask Mrs Devon._**

* * *

So, that was where Draco was, then. The first impulse had Harry want to follow Draco and question Mrs Devon again, but that wouldn't be really helpful. Draco knew what he was doing—he _was_ a very good Auror after all—and he didn't need Harry for that.

Harry discarded the piece of paper on the side and focused on the book beneath, opened on a page related to the Indijin Ants venom and its characteristics. Harry skimmed over it, ignoring the text to focus only on what Draco had circled with his quill. Harry took the book in his hands and read: _The Indijin Ants have many common points with the regular species that can be found in northern Europe. Like their European cousins, they are eusocial insects forming colonies built around division of labour, communication between individuals, and the ability to solve complex problems._

Harry moved to the next circled passage. _The Indijin Ants are not as strong as the common ants, in part due to the fact that they're a mutating species that appeared over the past fifty years. Therefore, they are more sensitive to changes and are easier to disturb. If danger arises, the Indijin Ants tend to flee and hide…_ "No shit," Harry muttered, remembering how he'd spent a whole afternoon on all fours chasing the bloody insects. _The Indijin Ants are particularly afraid of fire._ _However, if threatened or enjoined to fight, they might attack, their venom first paralysing their prey before gradually poisoning its blood leading to a certain death under an hour if nothing is done to counter its effects."_

He skipped the rest in favour of the last circled passage. _"Known side-effects of the venom include loss of appetite, depressive behaviour, swelling of the upper respiratory tracts leading to breathing problems and a modification of the tissues of the skin, including, in the deadliest cases, the appearance of a small green mark on the victim's ankle."_ Harry couldn't believe how everything fell in place so perfectly. He read on. _"However, the effects are not limited to the victims. Precautions must be taken by the brewer to avoid irreversible effects, the most notable of them being the creation of an indelible mark turning the brewer's fingertips black as coal."_

Black fingertips.

Harry closed his eyes. He had seen them somewhere, recently even, but no matter how hard he tried to place them, he couldn't think of anything relevant right now. He shook his head and discarded the book on the table.

He wasn't of any use here and should instead go back to the Ministry. He Flooed directly to the Atrium—that wasn't as busy as it was on weekdays even if it was still buzzing with people. His mind was reeling as he made his way down to the archives room. It was a very large room, barely lit by a few gas lamps hung on either side of it that cast long shadows on the endless rows of shelves holding all the archives of the DMLE.

The room could be overwhelming for someone who wasn't used to its functioning, but Harry knew it by heart, and he easily made his way through the rows of archives. He found what he had been looking for in aisle F-203, the restricted section where all the classified information about the war was kept.

Harry took a moment to think clearly. The murderer targeted Death Eaters. He or she made a lethal cream that former Death Eaters would use to erase their Mark. Harry could see the irony in that. And also something of a motive... The murderer probably sought revenge. A personal affair, then? Maybe he or she looked to avenge someone who had died because of those Death Eaters?

Harry placed his wand against the shelf and lifted the wards. He selected a few volumes that were all related to either the Second Wizarding War or the Death Eaters.

So far, there were three victims: Jugson, Crabbe and Avery, all of them faithful Voldemort followers. All of them, Harry had already met on several occasions: at the graveyard where Cedric had died, during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries and of course, during the final battle at Hogwarts.

That wasn't much to go from, but Harry decided to go for it. He whispered, _'Mobiliarbus!'_ and the heavy volumes of archives rose about a foot in the air and followed him all the way up to his office. When he pushed the door open, a small part of him expected to see Draco working at his desk, but no. Draco wasn't there, and Harry tried not to let disappointment overwhelm him as he discarded his scarlet robes in a heap on the sofa.

He set to work on the floor of their office, where he would have more space, carefully displaying the files of the three victims he kept on him at all times. He had looked at them so much that he knew them by heart and therefore, they didn't offer him any more information than he already had.

He went through the heavy volumes of archives he'd brought up with him next. He combed through every single event related to Voldemort since his return, patiently reading each and every piece of information he found about the victims. After about an hour, Harry stood up, his numb limbs not as cooperative as he would have liked them to be as he struggled to keep his balance. His eyes were burning from the thousands of words he had skimmed over and he rubbed them under his glasses.

This was leading him nowhere. He did find information related to the three victims, but nothing stood out. He sighed as he cast a fleeting glance at Draco's desk. Despite their heated argument in Draco's room, he wished Draco were here with him. He brought his wrist closer to his face and for the umpteenth time this morning, tapped his wand on it, hoping to see Draco's face appear on Ron's watch. But nothing: the line was dead.

He was about to go and get tea to clear his mind when something caught his eye. It was amongst the pile of articles Harry had dismissed but where before he hadn't seen anything worthy of interest, a small caption he had missed caught his attention. He sat on the floor again and grabbed the book. The small caption came from an article from the Prophet.

" _'_ _TRAGIC DEMISE OF MINISTRY OF MAGIC WORKER_ '' Harry read the title in bold letters before he avidly started reading the article.

" _St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderick Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a potted-plant."_ Harry paused and lifted his head, but Draco wasn't here to communicate—non-verbally or not—with him right now.

He sighed and read on. _"Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr Bode, who had been injured in a workplace accident some weeks prior to his death. Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr Bode's ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unavailable for comment yesterday, but a spokeswizard for the hospital said in a statement, "St. Mungo's deeply regrets the death of Mr Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic accident. We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted on our wards but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr Bode's bedside table. As his speech and mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of Devil's Snare—"_ Harry's eyes widened and his heart-rate increased significantly. _"—which, when touched by the convalescent Mr Bode, throttled him instantly. St. Mungo's is as yet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward. A celebration of life service will be held in St Mungo's at 11:30am on January 12th, with interment to follow at Highgate Cemetery, London. Friends and family only."_

Harry let go of the article, his hands trembling in excitement. Devil's Snare. The plant that was on the pot of cream.

This wasn't a coincidence. He Summoned a piece of parchment from his desk and wrote down the words:

Jugson - Avery - Crabbe.

Green tinge. Black fingertips.

Devil's Snare.

Broderick Bode.

Were the three victims linked to Unspeakable Bode's death in some way or another? He searched frantically through the different volumes he had brought up from the Archives room, using the _Scarpin's Revelaspell_ on them to retrieve only what was related to Broderick Bode.

He soon found himself with four books opened on various articles related to Bode. He read them avidly, but couldn't find anything interesting: they merely recounted Bode's exploits as an Unspeakable, but his death remained relatively obscure, having been regarded as a tragic accident. At the time, the Ministry had other fish to fry, so the case had been closed without much ceremony.

Harry stared at the mess in front of him. Despite spending the whole morning on the case, he had not progressed significantly. And he still hadn't heard of Draco. Uneasiness slowly made its way in his body. Like Narcissa had said, Draco's tantrums were usually short-lived. And it had been about three hours…

He raked his fingers nervously in his hair, pacing the room as he tried to focus on the case again and find the missing link in all that. Bode's death. Somehow Harry was sure it all came back to him. He remembered the sinister Unspeakable he had met in the lift of the Ministry as Arthur Weasley brought him to his hearing back in fifth year. And he also remembered seeing him later that year, probably days before his death, when he, Ron and Hermione had visited Arthur Weasley after Nagini's attack in the Hall of Prophecies.

Arthur Weasley.

That was it! Arthur Weasley had been friends with Bode, so maybe he could tell him something Harry couldn't find in formal Ministry files? It wasn't much, but it was worth a try.

He grabbed his robes on the sofa and slammed the door of their office.

* * *

It had been ten years since Arthur's promotion as the Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. At the time, Harry had been suspicious as to Scrimgeour's real motivations behind Arthur's appointment, but his skills left no doubt on the fact that he was the perfect person to do the job.

Harry knocked gently on Arthur's door and was welcomed by a warm, "Come in!" that made Harry feel instantly better. The smile on Arthur's face widened at the sight of Harry as he closed the door behind him.

"Harry!" Arthur stood, rubbing his palms on his trousers before rounding his desk and taking Harry into a warm hug. "It's so nice of you to come and say hello! Please take a seat."

"Thanks." Harry sat in one of the two comfy chairs that faced Arthur's desk. Harry had always loved Arthur's office: it was of course similar to those of the various Heads of Departments of the Ministry in its architecture, but none of them looked like it. The room was filled with various Muggle objects—from board games to packs of chewing gum to enormous Muggle appliances (among them a Muggle fridge with the Union flag painted on its door occupied one of the corners of the room.) It reminded Harry of Arthur's garage back at the Burrow, even wilder still, since Mrs Weasley wasn't around to contain her husband's enthusiasm for everything Muggle.

Arthur's desk was as encumbered with Muggle artefacts as the rest of the room, including a bunch of little metallic cars that Harry had craved at one point when he had been a child—the ones that would move on their own after a little friction was applied to them.

"So, what brings you here, Harry?"

Harry leaned back in his chair and took a breath. "I need to know about a former colleague of yours." Arthur raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, resting his elbows on what little space was left on his desk. "Broderick Bode. It's for a case."

"Brodie…" Arthur trailed off, a frown forming a cleft between his eyes. "It's been a while since I've heard him mentioned." He cleared his voice. "You do know he's dead?"

"Yes." Harry nodded. "Of course, yes."

"What can I help you with, then?"

Harry told him about their current case and the three Death Eaters that had been found dead over the past days. Arthur listened attentively, nodding in several places and reacting to what Harry told him.

"So," Harry finished. "I suspect these deaths are linked with Bode's death."

"All right, let me think for a moment. It's been ten years, so it's been a while, and if you remember well, I wasn't at my best at the time."

Harry smiled. "Indeed."

Arthur took one of the little cars and rubbed it on the blotter of his desk absentmindedly, the creaking sound of the gears distracting Harry. "Ah, yes. That's it." Arthur let go of the car that bolted at once and raced across his desk before crashing onto the thick carpet, its wheels still spinning in the air. "Bode had been used by Voldemort at the time when he wanted to get the Prophecy."

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "Voldemort had tried to put his hands on it, without much success."

"Indeed. And do you know what was their first attempt?"

"No?"

A small smile graced Arthur's features. "Dear old Malfoy had Imperiused Brodie to have him get the Prophecy for him."

"Lucius?"

Arthur shrugged. "Oh yes. Although I've heard that it wasn't his idea in the first place."

"True," Harry replied. "It was Avery's."

"Trying to get back into Voldemort's good graces, absolutely." Arthur smiled. "But dear Lucius outranked him, I imagine."

"Do you know what happened then?"

"Well, the attempt failed, and Voldemort punished Avery. It didn't stop him from trying again a few weeks later, by—"

"Breaking into the Department of Mysteries. Yeah, I remember it well." Harry managed to stop the clenching in his heart when he thought about Sirius, killed by Bellatrix on that terrible day. "But what became of Bode after the first failed attempt?"

"Bode resisted the Imperius curse, although if I remember well, when he touched the orb, the defensive spells around it triggered—as prophecies can only be obtained by those about which they are made. Bode suffered spell damage that affected his mind, although the shock of it lifted the Imperius Curse."

"And he was then taken to St Mungo's…" Harry said again.

Arthur bit his lips. "At first, he was making progress."

"Until one day," Harry muttered. "Someone offered him a Devil's Snare in disguise and it throttled him in his sleep."

Arthur nodded. "Precisely."

"And the perpetrators were never found?"

"No. The death was ruled as accidental and the case closed shortly after."

Harry leaned back in his chair, his fingers playing with the invisible watch. "Did he have family? Bode?"

"Well, he had a partner."

"A partner?"

"Yes."

Harry frowned at the slight reddening on Arthur's face and the way he avoided his eyes. "Oh. You mean, a male partner?"

Arthur looked at Harry again. "Yes." The Weasleys were among the first people Harry had told he was gay, and of course, they knew about Charlie as well—even if they didn't know what had happened between Harry and their son that summer—they still had a hard time discussing the matter around Harry. Although Harry wasn't sure it was completely due to his sexuality, or rather a form of some sort of parental shyness on the subject.

"Did you know him? Bode's partner?"

"Not really. I think he was a Healer or something. I saw him once when Brodie was buried. He was inconsolable of course, and I think he moved out of the country shortly after."

"Do you remember his name?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, sorry."

"Okay." Harry stood up. "Thank you very much, that was enlightening," he said, shaking Arthur's hand. His heart jumped in his chest as the mirror on the watch turned into Ron's face.

"Harry?" Ron called through the watch.

"How come you can reach me? Is Draco with you? Is this his watch?"

"Malfoy?" Ron looked behind him and Harry recognised Ron's office at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "Oh, no. This is another prototype. I've just connected it to your watch."

"Right." Disappointment washed over Harry. "What's up, mate?"

"I found something that might be of interest to you. Are you busy or could you come over now?"

"Now's fine." Harry lifted his eyes to Arthur. "I'm with your dad, by the way."

"Tell him I say hi," Arthur said.

"Dad, you know I _can_ hear you, I've already explained it to you."

"Ah yes, of course." Arthur smiled. "I tend to forget."

"Well why don't the two of you come over and have lunch with me here?"

"Okay," Harry said.

"Dad?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Arthur replied, hesitating. "I have this file I—"

"Dad," Ron said. "You haven't been to the shop in ages. I'm almost sure you haven't stepped a foot since the beginning of the year."

"All right, then." Arthur smiled.

"Good," Ron said again. "I'll go and get sandwiches, then. See you soon."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Arthur and Harry made their way inside the shop that was rather crowded, like every Saturday. Unidentified objects flew over their heads, as a couple of little boys marvelled at the animated vending machine of the Puking Pastilles's stand. They made their way through the shop, waving at George who was busy with a couple of customers in the Muggle Magic Tricks section before they joined Ron in his office.

"Hey," Harry said as he entered the room, followed closely by Arthur.

"Hi Harry," Ron said, sitting at his desk. "Dad."

"How are you, son?"

Harry and Arthur sat in the chairs on the other side of the desk. "So, why did you call me?" Harry asked as he bit into his sandwich.

"I have something to show you," Ron replied, his mouth full of bread that he swallowed in haste. "You remember when I told you yesterday that I had troubles with the numbers not adding up properly?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, I found where the problem came from." He looked up at Harry. "And you were right. It was Frank."

"Frank?"

"Yes. I went through all the orders for the De-Ageing creams over the past six months. Look at the charts." Ron handed him a piece of parchment. "The first couple of months, nothing special happened, but it changed over the past three months when Frank was in charge of the orders."

Indeed, Frank apparently placed orders for more creams that usual, not enough to raise suspicion though, but enough to bring confusion.

"Does it coincide with Frank's arrival at the shop?" Harry asked.

"Not exactly", Ron replied. "Frank was hired five months ago."

"He could've waited a little though, testing the waters before taking the plunge."

"But why?" Ron asked. "Why would he do that? Why steal a handful of De-Ageing creams every month?"

"Oh my God." Harry slumped back in his chair and hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I can't believe…" He turned to Ron. "What if he used the De-Ageing creams and mixed them with the Ants' venom?"

"I'm sorry, mate, but you're not making much sense right now."

Harry ignored him and stood. "Where is he now? Frank? I need to check something."

"I have no idea." Ron shrugged. "He didn't show up today. That's also why I've called you."

"Do you—" Harry froze as his eyes fell on the pictures behind Ron's desk. He jumped out of his seat and rushed to the pictures, his eyes roaming along Frank's hands, up to his fingers. "There!" he said triumphantly. "I knew I had seen them somewhere!"

"What?" Ron squinted his eyes in an effort to see what Harry was talking about.

"Look at his fingertips," Harry said again excitedly. "They're deep black!"

"And?" Ron scratched his head as his father joined them behind the desk.

"This morning Draco found out that the lethal cream responsible for the victim's death contained Indijin Ants venom. And one of the side effects of the venom is to leave a black mark on the brewer's fingertips."

"Shit." Ron said as he slumped back into his chair. "I can't believe it. Frank? A murderer? But why?"

"I think I have the answer to that question," said Arthur, his face so pale Harry was afraid he would collapse any time.

"What? What is it?"

Arthur bit his lips. "This is Frank Leonard. He was Broderick Bode's partner."

* * *

Arthur's words were like a bombshell. It set Harry into motion.

"Okay." Harry closed his eyes and pressed his fingers on each one of his temples. "Let's get things straight." He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, letting his arms go down. He started pacing the small room, his hands on his back. "Broderick Bode was killed by a bunch of Death Eaters who sent him a Devil's Snare plant that strangled him after their plans to Imperius him to retrieve the prophecy had failed."

Harry stopped in his tracks and took a look at Ron and Arthur who were both listening intently.

"Continue," said Ron.

"Right. So Frank, Bode's partner, was inconsolable. He was a Healer, you said?" Harry asked Arthur who nodded. Do you know what his speciality was?"

"No. Sorry."

"That's fine. So, after Bode's death, you said that Frank left England."

"Where he resurfaced a few months ago," Ron said.

"On the tenth anniversary of Bode's death." Harry exhaled as he rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "Wow. That's one hell of a long time for a revenge."

"Wait. I wasn't the one to hire him, but I'm sure George has his resume somewhere." Ron ran his fingers on colourful files neatly organised on the nearest shelf. Harry had often wondered if Hermione's sense of organisation had rubbed off on Ron or if she was the one responsible for the filing. "There!" he said triumphantly.

Harry grabbed the paper from Ron and started reading it. "Oh my God."

"What?" Ron asked.

"Guess where he used to work at St Mungo's?"

"No idea."

"The Third floor: the Potions and Plant Poisoning Department." Harry looked at Ron and his father. "He had an E in Potions for his NEWTs, look, it's right there!"

"Bloody hell," Ron said. "I can't believe we hired someone like him."

"I need to go back to the Ministry right away," Harry said, voice filled with tension. "I'll issue a warrant to find Frank and in the meantime, I'll search his past."

* * *

Harry barely had time to acknowledge the fact that he still hadn't heard from Draco that he ran to the archives room for the second time that day. He had a name, finally, after all this time. And he was going to make the most of it.

"Come on," he muttered to the shelves scanning for the information he was looking for. "It shouldn't be that hard."

His foot tapped impatiently on the floor as rows and rows of shelves moved in harmony. From time to time, the shelves expelled a file that fell on the floor by Harry's feet. After a couple of minutes, and a handful of sheets about Frank Leonard, the shelves stopped moving and the silence fell back in the gigantic room.

Harry didn't lose time to scan through what he had. Every bit of information confirmed what he had feared, and everything made sense in his head. It was all there: Frank's motive, the victims he targeted, everything in his past led to what Harry had discovered about the case.

He rose to his feet, Shrank the evidence he had found and stuffed them in the inside pocket of his robes. He had done everything he could on his side, but now, he needed Draco to get the last pieces of the puzzle.

He knew it wouldn't be simple, that Draco was probably still very angry with him, but it didn't matter. Draco would know to put things in perspective and put the work first. At least, Harry hoped so.

He tapped his wand on Ron's watch, and tried to contact Draco again, but the watch remained still. Harry pushed away the latent feeling of worry that bubbled in his gut. Fine. If he couldn't reach Draco via the Watch, he would go and get him.

After all, he knew where Draco had gone. All he needed to do was to go back to Mrs Devon's, the Ant lady.

* * *

Harry Apparated a couple of streets away from Mrs Devon's building and walked at a brisk pace to where the old lady lived, ignoring the wrathful glares the passers-by sent him as he ran into them, absorbed as he was in his thoughts.

He had to ring the bell three times before Mrs Devon dared open the door—only a crack, though—and asked him to identify himself.

Harry was getting impatient by the minute and finally, after Mrs Devon had put her glasses back on her nose and realised that yes, it was indeed Harry, a full-fledged Auror from the Ministry itself, and someone who had spent an entire afternoon in her flat only a few days before, did she let him in.

Once inside, Harry didn't waste a second. "Mrs Devon," he started, scanning the flat and expecting Draco to appear at any moment. "I have a few questions for you."

"How nice of you to visit me. You will have some tea?" Mrs Devon asked as she moved achingly slowly, bent almost completely in two in the direction of the kitchen.

"Er, no, thanks, I'm fine." Harry drummed his fingers on his thigh. "I'm actually in a hurry."

"I am very glad to hear it," she said as her knotted hand grabbed the kettle and she poured water in it. "Will you take sugar with it?"

"I'm very sorry, Mrs Devon, but have you seen my partner, Draco Malfoy? Tall, blond?" _Flirtatious,_ Harry nearly added.

"Oh he was here earlier on, but I'm afraid you've missed him." She shoved a chipped cup into his hand. "Hold this for me, my dear."

"How long ago did he leave?" Harry discarded the cup on the table and grabbed Mrs Devon by the shoulders. "Please. It's very important. Do you know where he went?"

"Oh, no. He didn't tell." She frowned as she took the cup and pushed it back into Harry's hand. "Hold. This, I said."

Harry sighed. "Did he say anything?"

"Oh, we chatted a little. He is ever so charming!" she cooed. "He was once again very interested in my Indijin Ants. Do you wish to see them again?"

"No, thanks." Harry's eyes filled with horror as he thought of the damn Ants. "Did he say anything about them?"

"Sit here, my dear," Mrs Devon ordered Harry, pointing at an armchair that must have been at the top of fashion in the seventies. Harry didn't know what exactly Mrs Devon had done to him, but as she turned back to the kitchen, his legs gave in under him and he dropped in the ugly armchair, raising a cloud of dust around him that made him sneeze inelegantly.

After what felt like long, agonising hours but was only mere minutes, Mrs Devon came back with a tray holding a ceramic teapot and a plate of biscuits. She was walking so slowly, her slippered feet sliding over the marble tiles one after the other, that it seemed to Harry that she was moving in slow motion.

Finally, she reached Harry's armchair and disposed the tray on the coffee table in front of him. She then settled on the sofa covered with a crocheted blanket that had seen better days.

Harry rushed to the teapot, intending on accelerating things a little by doing the work, but Mrs Devon slapped his wrist. "Oh no, you don't," she growled, a scowl on her face. "I am the one in charge here." And then, her expression changed, and she was once again the lovely granny from before.

When she was done serving them, a century later, Harry brought the scalding tea to his lips and sipped. He nearly spat it all over Mrs Devon but managed, at the very last second, to hold it in before he discreetly spat it all out back into the cup. The liquid—because nobody in their right mind could ever call that tea—was so bitter that Harry had to wonder how many years it's been since the date had expired. He put the cup back on the tray and turned to Mrs Devon, determined to get some answers from her.

"Mrs Devon," he said, trying to conjure his most charming smile, the one that had won him the Witch Weekly's Smile of the Year award in 1999. "Has Draco told you anything else? Apart from the ants?"

"Well, let me see, my dear." She frowned exaggeratedly, turning her already wrinkled face into something that reminded Harry of the pug the Dursley's neighbours had when he was a child. "Ah!" she said in a high-pitched tone, her face brightening. "Yes. He was very interested in my family. Do you wish to see some pictures?"

"Oh, no Mrs—"

She glared at him, her lips forming a tight line. "I insist."

He sighed. "Fine."

She came back five minutes later holding an enormous album that was so big Harry was sure she'd used some sort of spell to make it lighter.

"So, this is me, with my sister, and that's my nephew when he was a child."

"Yes, yes," Harry said impatiently. "But what about Draco—"

"Auror Malfoy was very interested in my family. Especially when I told him about my nephew."

"Why?" Harry leaned forward. "I mean, I'm sure your nephew is very—"

"Oh!" she beamed at Harry's attention. "My nephew is a bit instable." She brought her face closer to Harry, and he stared, fascinated, at all the wrinkles that covered her face. "You see," she added, opting for compassion as she put her hand on Harry's knee. "I'm a bit worried. My nephew is the only family I have but he's been behaving strangely lately."

"How come?" Harry pressed her.

"Well, he's never really been the same since Brodie died, all those years ago. Shame, really, they were such a beautiful couple."

Harry's heart stopped in his chest at the name. "What did you just say?"

"I said he's so moody these—"

"What's his name?" Harry cut in.

"My nephew?" Mrs Devon looked surprised. "His name's Frank. Why?"

Harry couldn't believe his ears. "Frank Leonard?"

"Oh you know him too!" Mrs Devon pressed her hands together as if in prayer.

Harry's blood ran cold and he stood at once. There wasn't a minute to spare.

"Where are you going?" Mrs Devon asked, berated.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Devon, but I've really got to go," Harry said as he grabbed the handle of the door. "Thanks for the tea!" he shouted above his shoulder.

* * *

Harry didn't stop to contemplate the feeling of dread that took hold of him and wouldn't let go again as he rushed to the Ministry again. If Draco had gone after Frank, who knew what had happened?

As he ran to the closest Apparition point, Ron appeared on his watch again. "Harry?"

Harry didn't have time to stop, so he brought his hand to his mouth, hoping the Muggles surrounding him wouldn't pay too much attention to him, which shouldn't be the case. He was in London, after all. "Ron. What's going on?"

"I've got news for you." Harry's steps slowed for a second before he started again at a brisk pace. "Apparently Malfoy went to see George and asked him about Frank earlier on."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised," Harry replied, nearly running into an old man, but managing to avoid him at the last moment. "He's after him."

"Harry."

There was something in Ron's voice that made Harry's throat tighten significantly. "What?" he asked in a breath, dodging pedestrians the best he could without losing contact with him. "What's wrong?"

"You know we have a backroom in the shop, where we put our stuff?"

"Yes." He almost ran into an old lady and muttered an apology. "What about it?"

"Well, after what you told me this morning, George and I decided to open Frank's locker."

Of course. He should've thought about it. "And?" he asked impatiently.

"We found a list in the door."

"What's on the list?"

"Names."

Harry's blood ran cold as he walked faster still. "Let me guess: Andrew Jugson, Robert Avery, Vincent Crabbe and Lucius Malfoy."

"Correct. The first three are crossed out."

"Not surprising. They're the Death Eaters responsible for Bode's death and that he killed."

"Yes, but that's not all." Ron hesitated. "There's another name on it."

Harry froze in the middle of the pavement. The man behind right behind him cursed at him but Harry ignored him. "Who is it?" he asked, trying his best to conceal the tremor in his voice. "Ron. Who is it?"

"It's Malfoy. _Your_ Malfoy, I mean."

"He's after Draco." Harry briefly closed his eyes and cuffed a hand in his hair. "And Draco's gone right after him."

"Sorry, mate."

"Shit." Harry started walking again, finally catching sight of the Apparition point in the distance. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit."

"Do you know where they've gone?" Ron said through the watch again.

"No, but I'm on my way to the Ministry and will check all the Apparitions from here as soon as I get there." Just a few feet to go now.

"All right. Please be careful, okay?"

"I will." Harry cut the communication and Apparated away.

As soon as he landed in the Atrium, he jumped into the nearest lift and braced himself for the ride. The trip seemed never-ending to him. When finally the golden grilles opened and the witch announced he had arrived in the Department of Magical Transportation, he ran past the various offices—the Floo Network Authority, the Broom Regulatory Control and the Portkey Office—before he finally reached the Apparition Centre.

There were about half a dozen witches and wizards queueing at the only desk open—because of course, this was Saturday—but his scarlet robes combined with the scar on his forehead bought him time and he was able to skip the queue altogether.

"Auror Potter," a young, blond witch said. "What can I do to help you?"

"I need to get the record of all the Apparitions that occurred over the last four hours from this Point," Harry said, giving the witch the address of the Apparition Point near Mrs Devon's flat.

"Of course, just a moment." Harry raked his fingers in his hair, making a mess of it. "Would you also like me to check for the Side-Alongs?"

Harry had not thought of that. "Yes. Yes, please." _Come on,_ he thought, nervously glancing at his watch again. _Where are you?_ he muttered under his breath.

"There you are." The witch handed him a sheet of paper with the names of all the people who had Apparated from there. "Next!" she called behind him and Harry walked out of the room, scanning the names feverishly.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw Frank's name, followed, less than a minute after, by Draco's. He went to the end of the line, looking for their destination. The blood pounded in his ears as he read: Highgate Cemetery, North London.

Highgate Cemetery. The place where Broderick Bode had been buried ten years ago.


	11. Of Ants and Wizards

**~CHAPTER 11~**

 **Of Ants and Wizards**

* * *

Harry had to think fast. He had to act fast.

He didn't know precisely what made his skin crawl and his gut wrench on itself painfully, but he could sense Draco was in danger. He ran through the corridors leading to the lifts without pausing, thankful for the strenuous training and his young age that allowed him to do so without being out of breath.

He jumped into the nearest lift, practically pulling the golden grilles shut himself, knowing that he was too slow, that this was too slow, and that he wouldn't make it in time.

He tore through the crowd of the Atrium and finally reached the Apparition zone of the Ministry.

He Apparated directly inside the cemetery, on the edge of the wizarding part of it. His whole body was tense, and his mind so full of Draco that he had a hard time focusing on anything else, but thankfully, he knew this part of the cemetery by heart, having spent countless afternoons there when he was still living in Grimmauld Place.

The sky above him was a dark grey, its heavy clouds ominously charged with electricity, giving the impression that it was more night time than the middle of the afternoon. The only positive point of the weather was that the threat of rain had kept most people away from the cemetery; it was almost deserted.

Harry took out his Invisibility Cloak and wrapped it around him, effectively hiding him from view —although he did have to bend a little so that no one could see his feet. He also cast a Silencing spell on himself, not wanting to risk walking on a twig and revealing his presence. He took a deep breath, holding his wand in one hand while the other kept the Cloak firmly in place.

The combination of the Invisibility Cloak and the Silencing spell meant that he was able to progress rather quickly. In this part of the cemetery, plants were growing freely, nature taking over the various Gothic tombs and buildings, shrouded in a green mantle of trees, shrubbery and wildflowers.

At last, there was something. It wasn't much, just a murmur of Magic, but for someone like Harry, who was particularly sensitive to it— especially since he'd defeated Voldemort—it was obvious.

The charms were all familiar to him, first because wards and protective spells were his speciality, and these weren't terribly complex; they were the work of an amateur. Second, because these wards were very similar to the ones he and Hermione had cast around their tent when they were looking for the Horcruxes. It was clever though: it prevented Muggles and regular wizards to enter the zone. However, it wasn't enough to stop someone like Harry who got through in a few seconds without disturbing any of them.

As soon as the wards closed behind him, Harry took out his Cloak and put it back in the pocket of his robe. The reality of the scene unfolding before his eyes hit him like a Bludger as he quickly assessed the situation. He was standing in a field of old tombstones, halfway up a hill overlooking a small clearing that held mausoleums and other various funerary monuments.

Among them was an impressive stone statue of a wizard in a delicately embroidered robe.

It wasn't what caught Harry's attention.

Draco was resting underneath the statue, on his knees, his arms drawn up taut in the air, the cuffs of his shirt pulled down to his elbows, revealing the pale skin of his forearms and the very present stain of his Dark Mark. His wrists, raw beneath an invisible tie, were held together around the outstretched arm of the statue.

A gust of wind chased a couple of heavy clouds and a timid ray of sunlight fell on Draco's face. Harry bit back a gasp and gripped the headstone that comfortably hid him from view a little harder.

The skin around Draco's right eye was swollen and bloody, courtesy of the open gash right above his eyebrow. There were stains of blood scattered on his usually pristine white shirt, crumpled beyond measure and hanging half-open on one shoulder. His clearly vulnerable position didn't stop the look of defiance in his eyes as his mouth twisted into a sneer, despite the split in his lip.

"Believe me," he drawled, his voice barely wavering under the strain. "You will not have my vote for Employee of the Month."

It was then that Harry saw Frank. He grabbed Draco by the chin, twisting his mouth in a horrible grimace, his face mere inches from Draco's. "Don't you dare talk to me like _that!_ " he yelled in his face, making Draco's damp fringe flutter before it fell back in his eyes.

As soon as he'd let go of Draco's face, Draco spat a mixture of saliva and blood into Frank's face.

"You, degenerate scumbag!" The sound of the slap Frank gave Draco echoed in the tiny clearing and Draco's face violently jerked to the side from the force of it. Harry's fingers clenched on his wand but there was nothing he could do, not with Frank so close to Draco. If he tried to curse him, there was a high risk the curse would reach Draco as well, and that wasn't an option.

Draco slowly turned his head to face Frank again, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he glared back. "Well, I'm not—" Draco paused, closing his eyes before opening them again. "The one currently keeping someone tied to a statue of a wizard with a dubious fashion sense." His head fell to his chest but he shook it, as if struggling not to fall asleep.

Harry frowned. Had Draco been drugged? His eyes moved of their own accord to Draco's Mark again and a cold dread seized him. He hadn't seen it before, because it had been darker, but with the tiny ray of sunlight falling right on Draco's upper body, it appeared clearly before his eyes: Draco's Dark Mark was _glistening,_ as if someone had applied something on it.

Because of course, someone _had_.

"You can brag as much as you want," Frank spat in Draco's face. "You're still going to die like the rest of them." He drove a knee into Draco's ribs, forcing the air from his lungs with the blow and having Draco double over, at least as far as his ties allowed him to.

It was enough to set Harry into motion. He stood abruptly and made to dart from behind the tomb when a low, crawling sound behind him froze him in place. He held his breath, not daring to move. He spun swiftly, his wand drawn, but everything was quiet around him. He turned back to the clearing when something on his wrist caught his eyes.

The Watch.

How could he have forgotten about it?

He gently tapped on it with his wand. The thin red line appeared and seemed to run around its edges, but apart from that, nothing happened. _Come on,_ Harry thought. It wasn't the time for the damn thing not to work. "Ron," he whispered, his mouth a mere inch away from the Watch. "Ron, can you hear me?"

Still nothing. "Ron. If you hear me. Please call Blaise. Tell him—" Harry was cut mid-sentence as he heard the crawling, scratching sound behind him again, although it seemed closer than before. He brought the Watch back to his mouth. "Ron…" but the word died in his throat as something sharp and unyielding was pressed against his throat.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," a familiar voice whispered in his ear from behind.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Mrs Devon."

"Did you enjoy my little vulnerable granny number, Mr Potter?" she said in an assured tone that had indeed nothing vulnerable in it. Harry's mind was racing. He could technically curse her, although that would only delay her. He could disarm her, but then, what would happen to Draco?

The decision was taken off his hands a moment later as she unfurled his fingers and took his wand with a strength he would never have suspected she had. "I'll take care of that." The pressure on his throat vanished for a moment. _"Incarcerous,"_ she said, and Harry's hands found themselves tied behind his back. She pressed her wand back to the hollow of Harry's throat. "And that, too." She snatched the Watch from his wrist and put it in the pocket of her robe. "Now, move."

The crawling sound on the ground behind Harry intensified and he managed to cast a sideways glance down. He drew in a sharp breath as he saw what had been making the noise: Mrs Devon's Indijin Ants were following them closely as they made their way through the tombstones and down the hill.

"Look what I've just found, spying on you," Mrs Devon said triumphantly as Draco lifted his head and a look of helplessness graced his features.

Draco choked a feeble, "No," his pupils dilated, and his movements sluggish.

"Well, well, well," Frank said smugly as Harry was shoved mercilessly towards him. "Look at what we've got." He pressed hard on Harry's shoulders, having him kneel a couple of feet away from Draco, his hands still bound in his back.

"You okay?" Harry asked Draco.

"I've…" Draco slurred, fighting to keep his eyes open. "Had better…" A weak smile curled up his bloodied lips. "…days."

"What have you done to him?" Harry yelled, panic growing steadily in his body at the sight of Draco gradually sinking into lethargy.

"Aww, that is so very touching," Frank said as he moved closer to them. Harry twisted his body in a desperate attempt to get rid of his ties. "He's just getting what he deserves."

Harry's best option right now was to buy some time before he figured out a plan of action. If there even was one. "Why?" he said, turning to Frank again. "Draco's never killed anyone."

"Hasn't he?" Frank moved closer and touched the tip of his wand to Draco's Mark. Draco let out a low whine through his clenched teeth. "But he still got this," Frank said, sinking his wand deeper into Draco's skin. "And that makes him as guilty as the others."

"Listen," Harry said in the best conciliatory tone he could muster. "I know you've been hurt. I've read about your partner and—"

"Brodie was the most honest, righteous, deserving Unspeakable," Frank cut in, his voice softer somehow. "He loved his job, and he believed in the cause. He believed in _you_." He turned to Harry, who was still trying to loosen his ties behind his back. To no avail.

"Sixteen years we were together." Frank lowered his wand as his eyes roamed the menacing sky. "Sixteen very happy years."

"It's all right, Frank," Mrs Devon said, putting her hand on his arm as the Ants regrouped around her. Harry frowned. Did the Ants answer to her?

"They _Imperiused_ him," Frank snarled. "This vermin's father," he said harshly, pointing at Draco. " _Imperiused_ him. But he resisted. That's how strong and brave he was," he said, a tremor in his voice even as he rose his chin up. "But that wasn't enough, no." He turned back to Draco. "They had him take the orb," he hissed. "Right from the Department of Mysteries. Right from the place he loved above all."

Harry once again took in his surroundings. Mrs Devon had his wand, while Draco's rested on a headstone a few feet away from them. Too far away for Harry to Summon it wandlessly, but Draco was closer to it…

"He suffered horribly," Frank went on, lost in his memories now. "They brought him to St Mungo's but they ruled it as a simple accident in the workplace…" He sneered. "As if Brodie would be that stupid."

Harry tried to move his legs a little to get closer to Draco, but as soon as he did, a loud hiss echoed in the air as the Ants moved as one.

"If you move an inch, Mr Potter," Mrs Devon said quietly. "My sweet babies will eat you alive."

Harry gulped at the thought and turned to look at Draco. His face was paler than ever, and sweat was rolling along his temples, falling on his chest, his eyes shut. "Draco." Harry called, hoping to have him open his eyes. "Draco, it's going to be all right."

"Oh no, it won't," Mrs Devon said in a cruel tone. "With the dose Frank gave him, and the combined venom from my babies, he should be dead by the end of the day."

"Draco!" Harry ignored her as panic shot through his body. "Draco, open your eyes!" Draco's head jerked up and slowly, painfully slowly, lifted his eyelids. "That's it. Come on." Draco turned his head to look at Harry and smiled at him, before a wince distorted his mouth again. "That's okay, don't move. That's fine."

"But you know what was worse?" Frank went on, oblivious to what was going on around him. "Oh it was bad enough that the love of my life had died in terrible pain. But the worst was that when that dirtbag Mulciber was injured after he'd broken out of Azkaban," he said again, his gaze intense in Harry's, "They asked _me,_ of all people, to treat him. Me!"

Draco let out another whine next to Harry. He had to find a way to tell Draco to Summon his wand. That was their only hope, and it was pretty thin: Draco was slowly but surely losing consciousness, and even without that, he'd never really managed to cast a wandless spell before.

"Can you imagine?" Frank said again. Mrs Devon was walking quietly around them, her army of Ants following her every step like a devoted crowd followed its guru. "I told them they could go and screw themselves. I would never treat the likes of him, never!" he shouted the last word. "And thanks to me, he died. That bastard _died_! It was one of the best days of my life." He almost glowed at the recollection. "And that's when I knew what I had to do." His tongue darted through his mouth as he licked his bottom lip. "That's when I started thinking about an ultimate plan to get them all."

"But it's not up to you to decide who has to die and who doesn't! You can't take the law into your own hands!" Harry told Frank, hoping to keep him talking while he whispered to Draco, hopefully loudly enough so that Draco could hear him, but not the other ones. "Draco, I need you to—"

But Harry was cut again by Frank's fiery words. "The law? What law? What kind of justice is this if I leave the country and come back ten years later to realise that the Death Eaters responsible for my partner's death received nothing more than a slap on the wrist and are now walking free?"

"Draco." Harry whispered again.

"After that, I left the country," Frank went on. "They didn't even go after me." He had a mirthless laugh. "I went to Romania, and worked for several apothecaries there. I've learned a lot. Their knowledge is far more advanced than it is here."

"Draco," Harry tried again, and this time, Draco's eyes fluttered and he lifted his head a little. "Draco, your wand." Draco tossed a glance at his wand on his right. "Can you—"

"I've seen them raising these beautiful babies," Frank said, showing the Ants that had stopped with their mistress and were now close to Draco. "And decided to take some with me. After ten years, I was ready to go home."

Harry still needed a little bit of time. "Mrs Devon," he said quickly and she looked at him. "How come those ants keep following you everywhere?"

"Ah," Mrs Devon said, a glow of pride on her face. "That is clever, isn't it?" She raised her hand and waved it above her ants that instantly reorganised themselves in a perfect square. "A simple but effective modified Imperius curse placed strategically on the right Ant, and that's all there is to it."

"Draco, your wand," Harry whispered again with a hint of desperation. He was running out of things to say to Mrs Devon and her diabolical nephew. "That's very clever indeed," Harry said, buying time. "But then… Why did you call us the other day? Something went wrong?"

"Ah, well." Mrs Devon shook her head and looked accusingly at her nephew. "Let's say we didn't exactly manage to cast the Imperius Curse on the right Ant on the first shot," she said in a bitter tone. "Trials and errors, I suppose."

"Enough chit-chatting now." Frank cut in abruptly. "Let's get on with it."

"No!" Harry said as he glanced at Draco desperately. "I mean, I still don't understand how you got involved in the whole thing, Mrs Devon. You have nothing to do with any of that."

She let out an evil laugh that had Harry wonder for the second time that night if she really was as old as she looked like. "Frank is like my son. I'm the one who raised him when my poor sister died."

Draco muttered something on Harry's right and he turned to look at him. Harry couldn't refrain a yelp of horror at the sight of the Ants now slowly crawling up Draco's knees.

"What did you just say?" Mrs Devon said, coming dangerously closer to Draco.

"I said," Draco said through clenched teeth, lifting his head slowly, a fierce look of defiance in his eyes beneath his fringe. "And what a fine job you have done. _Accio Wand!_ "

It all happened so quickly Harry didn't even have time to think. Draco's wand flew to his hand above his head and he yelled, _"Finite!"_ His links vanished and he crumpled to the ground, barely conscious, as the Ants covered his motionless body.

Harry, freed from Draco's spell as well, threw himself on Draco's wand and rolled aside just as a jet of light from Frank's wand nearly reached him. Harry shouted an _"Expelliarmus!"_ that disarmed Frank, swiftly followed by a forceful, _"Petrificus Totalus!"_ that managed to neutralise him as he fell heavily on the grassy slope.

Harry turned his attention to Mrs Devon who was flicking her wand restlessly over Draco, an ugly scowl on her lips—she looked like she was in some sort of trance— as she enjoined her Ants to attack him over and over again.

Harry yelled, _"Stupefy!"_ and Mrs Devon collapsed on to the mausoleum behind her.

There wasn't a minute to lose; Draco's body was almost exclusively covered in Ants. Harry held his wand high up in the air and said, _"Flagrate!"_ creating a long, fiery line of fire into the air. _"Engorgio!"_ Harry said again, and now, the fire escaping his wand was much thicker and stronger. Harry waved the fire whip he had created above Draco.

The Ants squeaked loudly, and writhed as if in agony before running as far away from the flames as possible and disappearing in the woods. _"Finite!"_ Harry finally said, as he dropped to his knees and held Draco's motionless body in his arms. "Draco!" Harry said, his voice echoing in the now quiet of the cemetery. "Come on, open your eyes." He gave Draco gentle slaps on the cheek but to no avail. "Come on, Draco. Come on!"

Harry pulled Draco's shirt back over his shoulders, unable to refrain a wince as he noticed the damage the Ants had done. Hundreds of bites scattered Draco's pale skin and Harry felt panic rise at an alarming rate as he remembered what he'd read in the book about the ants.

The victim had less than an hour after the bites before they died.

"Harry!"

He froze as he heard his name in the distance. "Over here!" he answered before he realised the protective spells were still very much active around him. He gently let go of Draco, having him lie onto the grass before he retrieved his wand and removed the spells.

As soon as they were down, Blaise and Susan ran to him, followed closely by Ron, Proudfoot and a handful of other Aurors.

Relief flooded through him as he took Draco back in his arms. "You're going to be okay," he murmured, removing a strand of hair from Draco's forehead and kissing it softly. "You're safe, now."

He lifted his head as Blaise and Ron arrived next to them. "I'll let you take care of them," Harry told them. "I need to take him to St Mungo's immediately."

"Of course," Blaise answered.

Harry held Draco tight in his arms before Apparating them away.


	12. All Is Well

**A/N: So this is the final chapter of the story! Thank you so much for those who read and commented on it! :)**

* * *

 **~CHAPTER 12~**

 **All is Well…**

* * *

As soon as they had Apparated in the "Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn ward, a whole team of Healers had taken care of Draco. They'd cast the usual emergency check-up tests both Draco and Harry were familiar with, and lost no time treating the Ants bites. They gave Draco half a dozen different potions to wash the poison from his system and sent him to sleep.

Draco's bed was at the very end of the ward, in an isolated spot and Harry was very thankful for that. They were hidden by a light pink curtain that kept them out of sight of the general population of the Creature-Induced Injuries's ward.

Harry was filthy from the fight in the cemetery: even with the protection of his scarlet robes that he had discarded in the corner of the room, his clothes bore grass stains and traces of mud everywhere. Not to mention, of course, the dried, rusty trails of Draco's blood on his shirt.

Thankfully, though, a lovely blonde Healer had cast Protective Spells all over him to avoid him contaminating the whole ward. And of course, he'd washed his hands thoroughly, which was why he had no qualms running his fingers over Draco's face.

It had been a close call; the venom of the Ants had penetrated Draco's skin in hundreds of places. It was only when the Healers had taken care of it and that Draco was safe that they told Harry that with the quantity of poison Draco had in his body, he wouldn't have lasted five more minutes. Harry's legs had turned to cotton beneath him and he'd nearly collapsed from sheer terror.

Draco still bore the traces of what Frank and Mrs Devon had done to him. His right eye was even more swollen than back in the graveyard, but that was normal: within a few hours, Draco's eye would turn black before changing shades a few times and finally fading in a week or so. The Healers had done a great job cleaning the cut above his eyebrow and had removed all traces of blood from his face. His bottom lip was swollen and of a nasty bluish colour, but it wasn't too bad; they had avoided the worst.

Harry raked his fingers delicately in Draco's hair, stopping short when Draco's eyes fluttered open.

"Hey," Harry said gently. "Welcome back."

Draco blinked a couple of times and winced as he tried to smile.

"No, don't," Harry said.

"Stop cuddling me, Potter," Draco muttered. "I'm not your fragile girlfriend."

"Oh yeah?" Harry grinned. "And what are you, then?"

"Look at my face." Draco lifted a bandaged arm and drew a circle in front of his face with his finger. "I am your rugged, scruffy, manly boyfriend."

Harry laughed, a clear laugh that surprised even him. "Yeah, right."

"Where are they?" Draco winced as he tried to sit up. "Frank and his devilish aunt?"

"Blaise and Susan were taking care of them when I left for here with you."

Draco nodded. "What happened?"

"You mean, after you very successfully cast your first wandless spell?"

Draco's mouth curled up in a smile. "Of course I did. I've always known."

Harry ran a hand along Draco's jaw, being careful to avoid the sensitive spots on his face. "It saved us."

"You do know you don't have to flatter me to get me into your bed?"

Harry laughed again. "God, it's good to have you back."

Draco reached for Harry's face and stroked the back of his hand on his cheek. "I was never gone."

Harry's smiled dropped as their fight from the morning—and God, that seemed to have happened days ago, not just mere hours—came back to the front of Harry's mind.

"Look. I'm sorry." Harry leaned in Draco's hand. "I swear I didn't mean to—"

"I know," Draco cut in.

"You do?"

Draco nodded. "I was angry. And I still think you were an arse for spying on my father behind my back." Harry opened his mouth to reply but Draco pressed a finger against his lips. "But you did what you had to do. Next time, just let me know. We're partners, aren't we?"

Harry took Draco's hand in his and pressed a soft kiss on his knuckles. "You know I'd trust you with my life," he murmured against Draco's skin.

"That wouldn't be a very smart thing to do."

"Well." Harry chuckled. "I've never been very smart, as a certain someone kept telling me during school."

Harry entwined their fingers together, and pressed another kiss on Draco's fingers when a loud voice had him pause.

"I demand to see my son!" Lucius's unmistakable drawl made itself heard from the other end of the ward.

Harry made to release Draco's hand, but Draco didn't let go of him.

"No," he said, shaking his head carefully. "I don't care what he thinks."

Harry let out a breath. "Okay."

The curtain surrounding Draco's bed was pulled open quickly, and Lucius Malfoy appeared, confusion written all over his face.

"What on earth is—" Lucius said, a hand still on the curtain as he took in the scene of his only son, bruised and battered, holding hands with Harry. He lifted an eyebrow in that haughty manner of his. "This…?"

Something uncertain passed through his eyes as he struggled to make sense of what was going on. He didn't have time to say anything about it though, as Narcissa rushed to Draco's side.

"How are you, darling?" she said, running the back of her hand over his forehead as she took in the damage.

"I'm fine, Mother." Draco huffed. "Stop fussing."

"May anyone dare enlighten me on the fact that my only son is currently holding hands with Potter?" Lucius spat.

"Honestly, Father," Draco smirked. "If you still haven't figured it out by now, I think it's high time I take the lead of this family."

"Draco!"

"We're together, Harry and I," Draco said in a bored tone. He winced again as he tried to roll his eyes and probably realised it was pretty painful when one had a cut on the eyebrow. "Get over it."

"Is that so, then?" Lucius asked the room, a mix of confusion and hopelessness on his face. The theatrics in his gestures reminded Harry strongly of Draco. "My son is queer, Potter is queer, they are queer for each other? Everybody is queer now, these days?"

"I don't know, Dad," Draco said, a hint of cheek in his eyes. "Anything you'd like to share with us?"

"Draco, that is enough!"

"Father," Draco said, exasperation colouring his voice. "I've just been beaten and poisoned, I look like I've just tried to kiss the Whomping Willow, and the only thing that bothers you is that I'm holding hands with Potter? Seriously?"

"But we had an arrange—" Lucius stopped short, his eyes fluttering shut before his knees gave in beneath him and he collapsed gently on the floor of the ward, as if in slow motion.

"Wha— FATHER?" Draco said, letting go of Harry's hand as he sat up.

A loud snore coming from Lucius' mouth reassured him instantly.

"I am sorry, darling," Narcissa said as she surreptitiously put her wand away in her sleeve. "But your father was becoming really annoying, don't you agree, Mr Potter?"

Harry's eyes were as wide as saucers as he processed the information. "Er…"

"You don't have to answer that," Draco said before turning to his mother. "Mum, you can't do that every time Dad annoys you!"

"And pray tell me why not, Draco?" she said, her blue eyes piercing him.

"Because…" Draco waved his bandaged arm in the air. "Because…" He let his hand drop back to the thin blanket of the hospital. "I don't know."

"Exactly." Narcissa smiled. "So, Mr Potter, I guess I have to thank you for saving my son's life? Again?"

"Hey!" Draco said indignantly. "I'm the one who saved us! I Summoned my wand!" He folded his arms on his chest. "Why is it always Potter who gets all the credit?"

"Oh, thank you very much, Draco, that was an excellent rendition of your twelve-year-old self."

Harry couldn't help laughing at that and Draco glared at him before turning back to his mother.

"Mum!"

"Anyway…" Narcissa cast a loving glance at her husband. "I suppose it is time I bring him back home." Right on cue, Lucius let out another loud snore.

 _"_ _Finite!"_ Narcissa said, pointing her wand at Lucius still sprawled on the floor.

Lucius blinked a couple of times, and frowned as the reality around him seemed to gradually make sense again in his mind. He stood elegantly and turned to his wife. "What was I saying?"

"Oh, I can't remember," Narcissa said, taking him by the elbow. "But it is time for us to say our goodbyes."

"What about Draco?"

"I'm a big boy, Dad, and Harry is here to take care of me should I need anything."

Lucius cast a deadly look at Harry, his lips pursing in disgust. "Oh, yes. I had thought for one blessed moment that that piece of information was a figment of my imagination."

"You don't have an ounce of imagina—" Draco started but his mother cut him in.

"Let us go, Lucius. You can tell me all about your frustrations when we are back home," Narcissa said as she gently pushed him beyond the curtain. "And I will pretend to listen to whatever you will be ranting about," she added under her breath, so that Lucius wouldn't hear her. Harry's eyes widened in shock, and he didn't know if it was better for him to laugh or just pretend he hadn't heard anything. "Good bye, Draco." She pressed a kiss to Draco's forehead and turned to Harry. "Please take good care of my son, Mr Potter."

Harry nodded. "I will."

She smiled. "Good." And she disappeared after her husband.

When Harry was sure they were gone, he turned to Draco. "What the hell has just happened here?"

Draco frowned and winced again at the pain from his brow. "What do you mean?"

Harry couldn't believe his eyes. "Your parents?"

Draco ran his fingers over Harry's forearm, tickling him lightly. "What about them?"

"Are they—" He cuffed a hand in his hair. "Are they always like that?"

"Well, yeah?" Draco stopped his ministrations. "What is wrong with you, today?"

"Huh—" Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Nothing. I mean…" he looked at the spot where the Malfoys had been standing not a moment before. "I've never imagined them like that."

"Like what?"

"I mean, your mum, she's— she's…" Harry struggled to find the right word. "Surprising."

Draco shrugged. "Well, she _is_ my mother, what did you expect?"

Harry smiled. "True."

* * *

"And now," Draco said, pacing the floor of their office dramatically, "I really can't see how this Auror of the Year Award can escape me. I have, after all, managed to catch a couple of evil murderers, using a very difficult to master wandless spell, all by using my sharp intellect and sacrificing this gorgeous body to the cause. If that doesn't make me the recipient of the Auror of the Year Award, I really don't know what does."

Harry smiled over his report, as he put the final touch to it, just one week after they'd put an end to Mrs Devon and Frank's killing spree. "I'm glad, once again, that my presence has not prevented you from stopping Mrs Devon and Frank."

"Well," Draco said, pausing in front of Harry's desk. "You haven't been of great help, but I suppose you have your use when it comes to writing reports and maybe—" He cleared his throat and Harry looked up at him. Draco avoided Harry's eyes as he mumbled quickly. "Saving my life."

Harry leaned back in his chair and smiled smugly. "What was that again?" he asked innocently, tilting his head slightly to the left. "I didn't get that last part."

Draco rolled his eyes, and said through clenched teeth. "Are you really going to make me say it again, Potter?"

"Hm, maybe?"

"Fine." Draco sighed exaggeratedly, bracing his hands on Harry's desk. "You may have proved useful at one point for _once_ in your life."

Harry licked his bottom lip. "Come over here, Malfoy," he ordered, grabbing Draco by the collar of his shirt, bringing his face closer to Draco's. "I've saved your sorry arse _again_ , you twat." He smiled, and stopped Draco from answering by pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Well, it was in your best interest," Draco retorted. "If I recall correctly, you certainly are very fond of my sorry arse."

"Really?" Harry said as he had Draco lean closer for another kiss.

The knock on the door had them once again pull abruptly from each other just as Blaise entered the room.

"Malfoy?" he said without preamble. "The big boss wants to see you in his office, now."

"Shacklebolt?" Draco said in a surprised tone. A wide grin formed on his face as he turned to Harry. "What was I telling you, Potter?" he said as he went to grab his Auror cloak on the stand. "This Auror of the Year Award is mine! Finally I get to have my talents recognised!"

He fumbled through the pocket of his trousers and took out what looked like a badge Harry had never seen before.

"What's that?" Harry asked, standing up from his chair and walking closer to Draco.

"That, Potter," Draco said as he magically pinned the badge to his cloak, "Is the Malfoy's crest. Reserved to the most rewarding Malfoys," he added proudly.

"Looks a bit rusty," Harry remarked.

Blaise chuckled. "That's because it's been a while since a Malfoy has been rewarded for anything."

Draco cast a deadly glare at Blaise and turned back to Harry. "How do I look?" he asked. "I mean," he added before Harry could answer. "I know I look stunning as always, but is that enough? What about my hair?" He ran a nervous hand in his hair. "Does it look as good as it always does?"

Harry smiled and reached for a strand of blond hair Draco had just ruffled and put it back into place. He swiftly took his hand away when he realised what he was doing in front of Blaise, who looked puzzled by the gesture, but didn't say anything.

Harry cleared his throat. "There. All done."

"Thank you, Potter," Draco said as if nothing had just happened. "Zabini, let's go."

A sigh of relief escaped Harry's lips when the door closed behind them and he went to sit back at his desk.

* * *

Harry was reading the last paragraph he'd written in his final report on the Jugson's case when a red memo—the ones sent by Kingsley himself—landed on his desk. Kingsley asked him to come in his office immediately.

Harry briefly wondered if it had anything to do with the case, or if Draco's presence in the Minister's office was the reason Kingsley wanted to see him.

He went through the corridors at a brisk pace. As he turned the corner in the corridor leading to Kingsley's office, the very recognisable drawl of Draco reached him. "I can perfectly well take care of myself," Draco was saying furiously as he stormed out of Kingsley's office. "I don't need anyone to do so for me," he shouted at Kingsley over his shoulder.

Draco flinched as his eyes met Harry's but his face shut again and he left without another word. Harry hadn't known what to expect coming here, but he had certainly not been prepared to hear Draco snap angrily at the Minister for Magic, of all people.

Kingsley was rubbing his face in his hands when Harry knocked on the still opened door. "Come in, Harry," he said, schooling his features. "Please take a seat."

"Thanks," Harry said, closing the door behind him and sitting in a very comfortable brown armchair that was still warm from Draco's body.

Kingsley sighed. "I suppose you've just heard Malfoy?"

"Well," Harry said, resting his elbows on the armrests. "He was quite difficult to ignore." He smiled apologetically. "May I ask what's happened, sir?"

Kingsley sighed again heavily. "Of course, you may, Harry." He leaned back in his chair. "Malfoy was basically angry at me for displaying a piece of information about something that's been going on for quite a while in the Department, without my knowledge."

Harry frowned. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not sure I'm following you."

Kingsley nodded. "I'll come to that in a moment," he said, before taking a deep breath. "But first there are a few things you need to know."

Harry leaned forward as close to the desk as he could, both hands resting on his lap.

"When I became Minister," Kingsley started, and Harry's eyebrows shot up in his hair. Did he really have to go back that far? "And yes, Harry. I do need to go back that far."

"Huh." Harry scratched his head, puzzled. Was Kingsley reading his mind? He brushed the ridiculous thought away and took his attention back to him.

"When I became Minister," Kingsley said again, "The world, _our_ world, was in complete shambles."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

"I was taken in a whirlwind of decisions to make in a matter of moments, most of the time barely having time to think things through at all."

"Yes," Harry recalled. "The first few days after the battle were pretty intense."

"They were," Kingsley agreed. "The most urgent thing to do at the time was—"

"To catch the Death Eaters who had deserted the battlefield as soon as possible to avoid a massacre in retaliation of Voldemort's death."

"Exactly." Kingsley had a small smile. "If you remember well, those were terribly busy and strenuous days, and I, among other people of course, was particularly under pressure."

Harry nodded. Of course Kingsley had been. The future of the Wizarding World lay in his hands, after all. There was all the aftermath of the war to deal with, the rebuilding of Hogwarts to organise and set into motion so that the school year could start properly, and of course, taking care of the dead and of their families.

"I don't mean it as an excuse of what I did back then, or of the choices I made, but merely as an explanation of the decisions I had to make at the time."

"I know you did your best with what you had, sir," Harry said encouragingly.

Kingsley smiled. "You've always been very loyal to me, Harry, and I can't tell you enough how much your support has meant to me. And still does." Kingsley leaned forward and his smile faded. "As you very well know, the DMLE was particularly touched during the battle, losing a huge number of Aurors and fellow members of the Order of the Phoenix," he paused, and Harry's heart clenched at the memory of Lupin, Tonks, and Fred, of course, lying still on the cold, hard floor of the Great Hall.

"Meaning you had a huge number of people to replace," Harry recalled.

"Yes." Kingsley took a breath. "I knew it was particularly important for me to have a strong Head Auror, since I wouldn't be able to be everywhere. At the time, Robards really was the best choice possible." He paused. "He was an experienced Auror, a solid one, and I knew I could rely on him to rebuild what was left of the Auror Department. Besides," Kingsley added, "I won't lie and say there were many reliable candidates for the post. I'm saying this, because it's important for you to know that what I did at the time, and what resulted from it, was always meant to bring stability and peace."

"I know," Harry said. "I know you did your best. And it worked," Harry added hastily. "Mostly."

Kingsley smiled again. "As always," he said, "I appreciate your honesty."

Harry nodded. "Sir."

"But as you know, it didn't exactly go as well as I had planned." Kingsley's face shut down. "I trusted Robards, I really did, but what I hadn't taken into account is that opening the Auror corps to a wider range of people would bring more chaos than peace in the department."

"Are you talking about Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Yes and no." Kingsley grabbed a quill on his desk and started playing absentmindedly with the feather, running his fingers on its length.

"What do you mean?" Harry frowned.

"I don't regret for one second accepting Malfoy, or any other young, former Voldemort sympathisers among our ranks. As you know, we selected them carefully, and made sure they were sufficiently supported so that this experience would turn into a positive one for everyone. I believed then—and still do today—that it is important to set an example."

"And time proved you right on that," Harry said. "I mean, Malfoy and the others have thrived in the Department, and contributed to it in a positive way." Harry didn't know much of the other two—unMarked, unlike Draco— former Voldemort followers, but he did know that Draco had worked much harder than everyone. That had been his strength of character, and his unmovable perseverance that had led Harry to see Draco under a different light, far from the cowardly teenager he had been.

"They have. But unfortunately, not everybody agreed."

Harry's heart beat faster, but he said nothing.

"Robards hired a bunch of new people, thus creating his very own close circle, people devoted to him."

"Like Smith."

Kingsley nodded. "Like Smith, yes." He sighed. "I wasn't opposed to it, not formally. After all, it was important for Robards to surround himself with people he trusted. I did know what it meant to be Head Auror, and the importance of having a solid, united team of people around you. But unfortunately," Kingsley said, grabbing the quill and observing it closely, "I had not anticipated what would come out of it. I didn't see it coming. I mean, I wasn't naïve, I knew it wouldn't be simple to give the DMLE and particularly the Auror Department a new orientation. I also knew that not everybody in the department saw things as you and I saw them regarding second chances, evolution and redemption. I was aware of some sort of a more conservative group of Aurors who mainly disagreed with my policy—they'd been there a while, after all, and had voiced their disapproval many times under me already. But I thought it was sane to have an opposition of some sort." He dropped the quill to the desk again. "I had so many other things to deal with that I regret to say, Harry, that I probably wasn't as attentive as I should have been."

"Sir," Harry cut in. "Kingsley." He looked into Kingsley's eyes. "I understand."

"I know you do. But there are things you are not aware of yet. And I'm afraid you won't see me quite in the same light when I tell you what's happened right under my nose."

A shiver ran through Harry's spine at Kingsley's words. "What's happened?" he asked.

"A small group of those conservative Aurors who thought I was being too lenient with the new recruits took it upon themselves to restore order."

Harry's eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard me."

"How?" Harry said.

"Well, for one, they had Malfoy and the ones with the same past go through humiliating monthly tests."

"Monthly tests?" He frowned. "Monthly tests?" he repeated. "But I mean, I would've known if Draco had gone—" Harry swallowed hard as realisation sank in. "Oh God," he said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face under his glasses. "The Top-Secret Missions."

"What was that?" Kingsley asked.

Harry ignored him, as a cold anger slowly made its way up his body. "What were those tests about? You said they were humiliating?" he managed to say calmly.

"Yes. Very much so." Kingsley scrutinised Harry as if he was afraid of Harry's reaction. "There were regular full-body examinations, and also…" Kingsley trailed off. "Also mind examinations."

"Mind examinations?" Harry nearly jumped out of his chair. "Do you really mean to say—"

"Legilimency, yes." Kingsley said sadly. "I've heard Veritaserum has been used in several instances as well. Illegally, I shall add." Kingsley sighed.

"Who did that?" Harry asked, managing to hide the tremor in his voice. He wasn't as successful with his hands though. They were shaking on the armrests.

"Well, it was a handful of people, but the person at the origin of those tests, and the one who talked the others into it, was Smith."

"I knew it," Harry said, running a hand in his hair. "Fucking hell."

"Harry," Kingsley said gently. "Please know that Zacharias Smith has just been suspended and will remain so until his trial."

"Good," Harry said dryly. "I just can't believe he would go as far as—"

"I know." Kingsley waved a hand in front of him. "Again, I'm sorry I didn't see any of it."

"That's all right." Harry sighed. "I didn't see it either."

"There is more," Kingsley said, slitting his eyes slightly.

"What?" Harry braced himself.

Kingsley took a deep breath. "Now that Smith and a couple of others are out of the picture, I need someone to take his place and, well, give Robards a hand."

Harry nodded.

"I need someone reliable," Kingsley went on. "Someone who has positive views and principles. Someone who has a vision for the department. And above all, I need someone I can trust."

"Sir." Harry frowned. "What are you—"

"Harry." Kingsley looked straight into Harry's eyes. "I want you to take Smith's place and become Assistant Head Auror."

"But—" Harry said. "Sir, I'm not sure I'm qualified enough to—"

"Because Smith was?" Kingsley asked with a smirk.

"Fair point," Harry replied. "But still, have you thought of what the others Aurors will have to say about that?"

Kingsley shook his head. "Don't worry about that, I'll take care of it."

"And what about Robards?"

"Between you and me?" Kingsley enquired with a little smile.

"Of course, sir."

"Let's say Robards's days at the head of the Auror Office are counted," Kingsley said. "He is aware of the fact the Ministry has been less than impressed by his department's policy over the past years, and knows he is very likely to retire within the next couple of years." Kingsley leaned forward. "Which should leave him enough time to train the person who will eventually take his place." He winked at Harry. "Now if you'll excuse me, Potter, I still have a lot to do and I'd really like to be able to spend the weekend fishing on that lake rather than dealing with a pile of dossiers."

"I—" Harry's thoughts raced through his mind. He would become Assistant Head Auror. He would be able to make real changes in the department. He wouldn't feel as trapped in it as he felt with Smith and Robards at its head. It wouldn't be easy working with Robards, but it certainly would be interesting, even more so if what he learned led him to— He discarded the thought immediately as another one took its place in his head. Becoming Assistant Head Auror meant he wouldn't be partnered with Draco anymore. He wouldn't be partnered with anyone anymore. "I need to think about it," he finally told Kingsley. "If that's all right with you."

"Of course. Take your time to think about it, and tell me what your answer is on Monday."

"Thanks," Harry said, standing up. "Thank you for your trust, sir."

"You're very welcome, Harry."

* * *

Harry had certainly not expected to hear what Kingsley had told him. He couldn't believe that Draco had been subjected to all kinds of humiliations without telling Harry about them. He briefly wondered if Draco had been threatened or blackmailed in any way, but shoved the thought away: it was way more likely that Draco had resented the idea of Harry just knowing about it, and even worse, acting on it. Draco had his pride, and it involved dealing with his problems on his own. He'd learned the hard way not to let anyone dictate his actions, and had for a long time.

Harry's thoughts accompanied him all the way back to his office. As he passed the Head Auror's office, he couldn't help noticing that Smith's door was open. The temptation was too strong, and he peered inside.

Smith was packing his belongings in large cardboard boxes, angrily shoving the items from his desk into them, his face distorted in cold anger.

He must have felt Harry's eyes on him because he lifted his head, and pure fury burned in his eyes. He didn't say a word but grabbed his wand and slammed the door in Harry's face.

Harry couldn't hold back a smile.

Seeing Smith like that made Harry so happy that once he'd reached his office, he had almost forgotten all about Draco's angry outburst. As he pushed the door to their office, Draco's face immediately told him all there was to know: he looked positively better and less upset than he'd been earlier on. Blaise's presence in Draco's chair probably explained Draco's better mood. Harry let out a breath of relief and stepped in.

"Potter," Draco said in a low voice, shuffling his feet as if he didn't quite know what to tell Harry.

"Hey," Harry said gently.

"Oh no," Draco snapped. "Don't you dare fucking start coddling me again. I am not your damsel in distress."

"I know," Harry retorted, hanging his cloak on the stand before walking to Draco's desk.

Draco jumped on it and nearly knocked over the small pot containing the ink for his quill.

"Interesting conversation with Shacklebolt?" Blaise asked in a detached manner that didn't fool Harry.

Harry ignored him and turned to Draco. "Why didn't you tell me? About those monthly sessions with Smith?"

Draco shrugged. "I did."

"No you didn't," Harry replied dryly.

Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Yes I _did_ ," he said, emphasising the last word. "You just chose not to believe me," he added in a low, almost menacing tone. "But I did tell you."

"When?" Harry insisted. "When on earth have you told me about those—" Harry felt the blood leave his face at once as it came back to him. "Oh my God." He felt his legs wobble and leaned against his desk. "Oh my God, Draco, I'm so sorry."

"Well, you'd better be," Draco said again coldly.

"But why did you have to tell me in such a casual manner?" Harry said, shaking his head. "All the other reasons you gave me were each more ridiculous than the last. I mean, one hundred and one Dalmatians, seriously?"

Draco's face softened at the recollection and Harry held his breath. It was one of those make or break moments again.

"I'm sorry I was a jerk," Harry finally said.

"Yes, you were," Draco said, jumping from the desk and leaning against it, facing Harry. "You were a massive jerk."

"Hey, I've just apologised!" Harry retorted, offended.

"Well, of course you have," Draco said, a small smile slowly curling up the corner of his mouth. "That was the least you could—"

Whatever Draco was about to say was forgotten as Susan Bones, Blaise's partner, opened the door. "Zabini, get your lazy arse over here," she ordered him. "There's work to do and if you think for one second I'm going to do it for you, then you're deeply delusional. Which wouldn't be much of a surprise," she added sternly.

Blaise was on his feet a second later. "I'm coming. I'll be right here," he told her, like a little child caught with his hand in a cauldron full of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

Susan rolled her eyes in exasperation, let out a very loud, annoyed sigh and left, slamming the door behind her.

Draco turned to Blaise the moment she was gone, a big, smug grin on his face. "Oh my God, Zabini," he said, his voice filled with glee. "You are so in love with her."

"Am not," Blaise retorted.

Draco's smile widened. "Are too."

"Well, you're one to speak, Malfoy," Blaise countered.

Draco's smile faltered, but he managed to school his features rapidly enough. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Draco." Blaise shook his head. "Remember Pansy's grandmother?"

Harry frowned. Draco narrowed his eyes, before answering prudently. "Yes?"

"Remember when we turned her cat green right under her nose and she didn't even realise it was us?"

Draco's smile widened at the recollection. "Ah yes! _It's those terribly badly-behaved Muggle children again_ ," Draco said in a mock, old lady's voice. "She certainly wasn't perceptive, Pansy's grandmother."

"And yet," Blaise said too smugly for Harry to be entirely comfortable. "I'm sure even _she_ would be able to notice what is going on between the two of you."

It was as if someone had hit Harry hard in the chest, expelling all the air from his lungs.

"What?" Draco asked in a breath, his smile gone as abruptly as it had graced his features a moment before.

"I don't—" Harry was only able to say.

Blaise's smile was so big it illuminated his whole face now. "Oh mates," Blaise said, looking much too proud of himself now. "If you think the two of you are in any way being subtle about what is going on between you, well let me tell you that your very high grade at your Concealment and Disguise test is at best overrated. You are about as subtle as the Giant Squid in the Prefect Bathroom."

For once in his life, Harry was berated at the fact Draco was as speechless as he was.

Blaise went on. "Oh come on," he said, rolling his eyes. "It was so bound to happen. I mean, this little thing between you has gone on for years. I'd say it's fucking high time, don't you think?"

"Years?" Harry finally managed to articulate.

"Yes, years," Blaise replied. "I don't know about you, Potter, because we weren't exactly moving in the same circles at Hogwarts but Draco has always had a thing for you."

"What?" Draco said, his eyes widened in horror. "Absolutely not! He was my arch-enemy! I hated him!"

"Of course, he hated me," Harry said a little bit more desperately than he would have liked. "And I hated him too."

Blaise rolled his eyes again. "Really?" He turned to Draco again. "Oh, come on! Pansy, Theo and I had bets on the two of you."

"Wait a minute." Harry frowned. "Bets?" he asked Draco.

Draco clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Not now, Potter."

"Of course." Blaise went on. "We had bets over how many times Draco would mention your name, Potter, in a day."

"Shut up," Draco snapped.

"The record being fifty-six times in fifth year."

"Really?" Harry grinned at the look on Draco's face.

"Zabini, you're dead," Draco snarled.

"Oh yes," Blaise told Harry, ignoring Draco.

"What else?" Harry asked.

"Zabini, I swear—" Draco started, a threatening finger pointed right at Blaise.

"We also had bets," Blaise went on, visibly happy to see the effect he had on Draco. "On what lame excuse Draco would find to go after you."

"I didn't," Draco said to Blaise. "I really didn't," he said again to Harry.

However, that wasn't really the point to Harry. "I don't understand, Malfoy," he said mischievously. "I thought Slytherins never placed bets? That they would never stoop so low?"

"Oh, Draco." Blaise shook his head in a patronising way. "You are so deeply into him." Harry felt the heat rise up his cheeks at the innuendo. Blaise seemed to realise what he had said belatedly. "Or the other way round," he added with a wink.

"Draco?" Harry asked. "Is that true? About the bets?"

"Of course it is true," Blaise said again. "Ask Pansy or Theo if you don't believe me." He rose from Draco's chair. "Anyway, I have to go. Try to wait at least a minute after I left before throwing yourselves at each other."

"Go away," Draco said in a threatening tone.

"I'm out," Blaise said with a massive smile on his face, before closing the door behind him.

Silence settled over them as Harry pondered on what had just happened. "Well, it's been quite a day," he finally said.

"Indeed," Draco replied.

Harry left his desk and walked prudently to Draco. "Hey," he said, gently taking Draco's hand in his. "It isn't too bad after all," he said. "Blaise is our friend."

"I know." He twined his fingers with Harry and smiled at him. "What did Shacklebolt want from you anyway?" Draco asked.

"Oh." Harry stared at his thumb gently stroking the back of Draco's hand. "Well, he…" He cleared his throat. "He told me about the tests Smith made on you."

"I know that," Draco retorted, and Harry knew the subject was closed, at least for now. "What else?"

"He…" Harry cleared his throat again, still fascinated by the pattern his thumb drew on Draco's hand. "He may have asked me to take Smith's place," Harry said in a breath. "But I told him I would think about it," he added quickly.

"Smith's place?" Draco asked. "Assistant Head Auror?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah. But I'm not sure—"

"Are you crazy?" Draco asked, reaching for Harry's chin with his free hand and lifting it up. "Please don't tell me you're seriously considering saying no?"

"I—" Harry sighed. "I don't know."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You don't know." He shook his head. "Why? There's nothing to think about, you have to do it!"

"But we wouldn't be partners anymore," Harry couldn't help saying.

"Oh, Potter." Draco shook his head again, in a very patronising way. "Of course we wouldn't be partners anymore, but I'd be promoted too!"

Harry frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Can't you see it? I would be the one sleeping with the boss! I would be the one to share the boss's dirty secrets with the whole department! Everybody would love me!"

Harry broke into a clear laugh. He let go of Draco's hand and threw his arms around his neck, bringing him closer to him. "I can't believe you're for real," Harry said against Draco's lips, kissing him hard.

"I know, Potter." Harry kissed him again. "I know."

THE END.


End file.
